3   1822  01165  9042 


THE  SILENCE  OF 
SEBASTIAN 


BY  ANNA  T.  SADLIER 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


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THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 


THE  SILENCE  OF 

SEBASTIAN 


BY 


ANNA   T\   SADLIER 


.-itiih.,'1-  <•/   "  Ph 


"    ftc. 


THE    AVE    MARIA 

NOTRE    DAME,     INDIANA 
U.    S.    A. 


COPYRIGHT,  1913 
BY  D.  E.  HUDSON.  C.  S.  C 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 


I. 

SEBASTIAN  was  the  youngest  save  one  of  the 
Wilmot  family, — a  straight-browed,  dark-haired 
and  dark-complexioned  young  man,  who  at 
twenty-eight  had  all  those  qualities  with  which 
men  of  forty  are  usually  credited.  He  had 
matured  early, — too  early,  if  the  old  axiom  be 
correct,  that  fruit  ripening  most  slowly  is  the 
soundest  and  sweetest.  After  having  gone 
through  his  college  course  in  a  manner  to 
satisfy  the  most  exacting  father,  he  had  entered 
mercantile  life,  under  the  auspices  of  the  latter 
gentleman. 

His  entrance  upon  that  career,  to  which  he 
devoted  all  his  faculties,  went  far  to  console 
his  paternal  relative  for  the  disappointment 
occasioned  by  the  two  elder  brothers,  Alfred 
and  Louis,  who  had  unhesitatingly  pronounced 
in  favor  of  the  professions.  The  former  had 
obtained  a  solid  footing  amongst  the  legal 
fraternity,  while  Louis  was  engaged  in  building 
up  a  medical  practice  in  the  populous  East 
End.  And,  having  thus  cut  themselves  off 


2  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

from  the  paternal  commercialism,  each  had 
likewise  his  separate  establishment.  Alfred  had 
made  what  was  considered  by  his  parents  a 
thoroughly  satisfactory  marriage;  while  Louis, 
with  the  assistance  of  an  old  housekeeper  who 
had  also  been  nurse  in  the  family,  had  set 
up  housekeeping  for  himself  in  a  modest  brick 
dwelling,  in  that  portion  of  the  city  where  his 
practice  mostly  lay — a  cross  street  adjoining- 
Second  Avenue. 

Sebastian  remained  at  home,  in  the  dwelling 
on  Gramercy  Park,  which  had  once  been  a 
mansion  dating  back  to  more  primitive  times, 
but  which  the  elder  Wilmot  had  purchased  at 
a  comparatively  modest  figure.  A  considerable 
amount  of  money  had  been  expended  upon  it 
in  the  shape  of  embellishments  or  improve 
ments;  but  it  had  been  permitted  to  retain 
its  oldtime  stateliness  and  dignity,  even  though 
the  neighborhood  thereabout  had  degenerated. 
David  Wilmot  liked  the  dignity,  but  was  quite 
indifferent  to  those  circumstances  which  sorely 
vexed  the  minds  of  his  wife  and  daughter 
namely,  that  business  under  various  forms  had 
reared  its  head  all  about,  and  the  most 
undesirable  purlieus  were  in  tolerably  close 
proximity. 

"Sebastian,"    came    the    father's    deep-toned 
voice    at    the    foot    of    the    broad    stairway,  - 
"Sebastian,   come   at   once!     I   am   waiting  for 
you." 

Sebastian,    dressed    in    his    faultlessly    neat 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  3 

business  suit  of  iron-gray,  emerged  from  the 
room  he  was  occupying  near  the  top  of  the 
first  stairs;  and,  hastening  down  the  broad 
staircase,  rejoined  his  father  in  the  hall  below. 
Standing  together,  they  formed  something  of 
a  contrast.  The  elder  man  had  grown  pon 
derous  in  the  course  of  the  years,  though  there 
were  some  who  remembered  him  just  such  a 
straight  and  agile  figure  as  Sebastian.  His 
face  was  of  a  dark  purplish  hue,  his  prominent 
nose  veined,  and  his  manner  at  times  choleric. 

"Sebastian,"  he  said,  "you  make  a  mistake 
in  being  dilatory.  Promptitude  is  the  soul  of 
business." 

The  young  man  made  no  reply,  and  the  two 
descended  the  steps,  where  the  trim  brougham 
waited,  which  transported  them,  with  but 
slight  delay,  to  the  emporium  on  Broad  Street. 
It  was  a  five-story  building,  grim  and  forbidding 
in  aspect,  and  would  have  been  a  monotone 
in  gray  but  for  the  blue  shades  that  veiled  all 
the  windows.  On  each  of  its  five  stones  wras 
carried  on  one  branch  or  another  of  that  colos 
sal  industry,  the  importation  and,  when  occa 
sion  demanded,  the  exportation  of  dry-goods. 

Sebastian  occupied  an  office  on  the  second 
story,  adjoining  that  of  his  father;  but  smaller, 
less  luxurious,  and  altogether  less  imposing  than 
that  of  the  senior  partner.  The  junior,  however, 
had  mastered,  by  careful  and  painstaking  dili 
gence,  every  detail  of  the  business;  and  in  the 
smaller  rather  than  in  the  larger  office  were 


4  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

to  be  found  the  virile  directness,  the  unswerv 
ing  rectitude,  and  the  capacity  which  had 
given  the  firm  its  present  exalted  standing. 
He  had  even  guided  it  through  a  commercial 
crisis  which  had  wrecked  many  firms  of  older 
standing;  steering  his  way  through  the  intri 
cacies  of  modern  finance  which  simply  bewil 
dered  his  father.  To  the  firm  name  of  D. 
Wilmot  had  lately  been  added  "&  Son,"— a 
tacit  acknowledgment  of  the  influence  which 
Sebastian  had  exerted  upon  its  present-day 
destinies. 

In  truth,  such  a  hand  as  his  was  sorely 
needed;  for  not  only  had  mercantile  conditions 
altered  since  David  laid  the  foundations  of  his 
prosperity,  but  a  trusted  clerk  and  confidential 
adviser  had  died  recently,  and  left  the  head 
of  the  concern  floundering  and  uncertain  but 
for  the  timely  advent  upon  the  scene  of  the 
young  Hercules  of  commerce.  Sebastian's  power 
was  all  the  greater  because,  though  he  knew 
and  fully  realized  it  himself,  he  gave  no  sign, 
and  those  upon  whose  behalf  it  was  employed 
were  but  dimly  conscious  of  its  existence. 

That  day  was  like  any  other  day  at  the 
place  of  business.  Orders  came  in  and  orders 
went  out,  negotiations  were  set  on  foot  or 
negotiations  were  carried  out,  which  meant  an 
addition  of  thousands  of  dollars  to  the  exchequer 
of  Wilmot  &  Son.  For  the  commodities  in 
which  the  house  traded  included  whole  ship 
loads  of  merchandise,  cargoes  of  the  richest 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  5 

stuffs;  and  it  had  its  agents  in  Mexico,  in 
South  America,  and  in  the  leading  cities  of 
the  United  States  and  Canada.  Its  operations, 
in  fact,  swept  the  continent,  and  extended 
into  the  old  countries  of  Europe,  Asia,  and 
even  Africa. 

Sebastian  had  received  that  day  visits  from 
scores  of  business  men,  all  marked  more  or 
less  by  the  hurry  and  stress  of  modern  condi 
tions;  all,  or  nearly  all,  in  a  hurry;  all,  or 
nearly  all,  making  use  of  sharp,  disjointed 
sentences,  and  of  trite  commercial  phrases. 
Also  the  many  calls  to  which  the  junior  partner 
responded  at  his  private  telephone  might  well 
have  occasioned  both  weariness  and  disgust. 
But  Sebastian  showed  no  signs  of  either,  ap 
pearing  as  trim,  as  neat,  as  capable  as  ever, 
when  the  day  wore  on  to  late  afternoon. 

He  allowed  himself  a  breathing  space  from 
inflexible  duty  as  the  sun  of  that  lovely  day 
in  early  October  showed  signs  of  sinking  to 
its  rest.  Raising  the  blue  shade  higher,  he 
looked  out  upon  that  portion  of  New  York 
which  came  under  his  observation, — mostly 
warehouses,  and  buildings.  He  followed  with 
his  eye  a  soft  and  fleecy  cumulus  dividing  the 
misty,  amber-colored  horizon  from  the  arch  of 
clear  blue.  And,  so  doing,  his  thoughts  sped 
away  to  the  seacoast  where  his  mother  and 
his  only  sister,  Margie,  were  still  lingering.  A 
smile  crossed  his  face  and  enlivened  its  gravity 
as  he  remembered  his  sister's  enthusiastic  praise 


6  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

of  their  summer  sojourn,  of  the  long  stretches 
of  white  beach,  of  the  thunder  of  the  waves, 
and  of  the  freshness  of  the  saline  atmosphere. 
Something  of  wistfulness  crept  into  Sebastian's 
gaze  at  the  picture  thus  conjured  up;  for  he- 
was  passionately  fond  of  Nature,  and  especially 
of  the  sea.  He  recalled  quite  gratefully,  too, 
as  if  it  had  been  a  substantial  advantage, 
Margie's  yearning  words:  "If  only  you  and 
father  could  be  here  it  would  be  perfect ! ' 
Well,  in  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  that  wish 
had  been  all  summer  an  impossibility;  but  he 
was  glad,  sincerely  glad,  that  those  dear  women 
had  not  been  denied  the  "splendor  of  the 
grass,  the  glory  of  the  flower,"  and  the  various 
delights  of  a  sojourn  beside  the  sea. 

He  was  startled  from  his  reverie  when  his 
father,  somewhat  earlier  than  usual,  came  to 
the  office  door  to  ask  if  he  was  ready  to  leave. 
The  young  man  responded  that  he  was;  and 
having  resumed  his  outdoor  habiliments,  fol 
lowed  his  father  to  the  carriage.  The  latter, 
sinking  back  against  the  cushions,  observed: 

"It  has  been  a  long  day!" 

Sebastian  looked  at  the  speaker  in  surprise. 
It  was  so  seldom  he  ever  complained  of  fatigue. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 


II. 


As  the  two  men  drove  up  town  together, 
the  elder,  following  out  some  train  of  thought 
in  his  own  mind,  remarked: 

"There  would  have  been  room  and  to  spare 
in  this  big  concern  for  Alfred  and  Louis  both." 

Sebastian  turned  his  dark  eyes  inquiringly 
upon  his  father. 

"I  suppose  there  would,"  he  responded. 

"Suppose?  Why,  I'm  sure  of  it!  Our  trade 
has  gone  on  increasing  every  day  in  the 
last  few  years.  We  have  nearly  doubled  our 
connections." 

Sebastian  may  have  been  tempted  to  remark 
that  this  period  of  alleged  increase  coincided 
with  his  own  advent  into  the  firm.  But,  if 
such  a  suggestion  occurred  to  him,  he  gave 
no  outward  sign. 

'There  is  room,"  continued  the  father,  his 
tone  growing  in  emphasis,  "for  half  a  dozen 
capable  men  at  the  head  of  affairs." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  father,"  dissented 
Sebastian.  "I  think  there  can  be  only  one 
man  really  at  the  head  of  affairs." 

His  father  looked  inquiringly,  pondering  in 
his  own  mind  as  to  whether  or  not  this  obser- 


8  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

vation  was  to  be  interpreted  in  a  sense  com 
plimentary  to  himself.  Having  decided  in  the 
affirmative,  he  agreed  with  some  complacency: 

"Yes,   I  believe  you  are  right." 

"The  rest,"  added  Sebastian,  "are  merely 
subordinates." 

"Of  course, — of  course!"  assented  David 
Wilmot,  ruffling  his  plumes.  "Still  I  can't 
help  regretting  that  Alfred  and  Louis  are  not 
with  us." 

"They  could  no  doubt  have  been  made  use 
ful,"  acceded  Sebastian,  wondering  if  it  were 
intolerable  presumption  in  himself  to  believe 
that  he — he  and  his  father,  of  course, — could 
do  better  without  them. 

"Both  trustworthy,  capable  fellows,"  declared 
the  father,  "especially  Louis.  A  fine  business 
man  was  lost  in  him." 

Sebastian  smiled.  He  remembered  to  have 
heard  some  of  his  acquaintances  express  the 
opinion  that  an  admirable  member  of  one  of 
the  professions  was  lost  when  he  himself  had 
been  sucked  into  the  whirlpool  of  commercial 
ism.  Who  could  prophesy  thus  with  certainty, 
or  predicate  on  the  chances  of  a  life  reversed! 
Or  was  it  not  probable,  he  thought,  that  the 
innate  qualities  of  a  man  must  be  brought  out 
in  whatever  career  he  has  chosen,  or  into 
which  he  has  been  propelled  by  circumstances? 
His  father  did  not  see  the  smile,  but  continued 
to  enlarge  upon  the  subject  which,  apparently, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  9 

had  taken  so  strong  a  hold  upon  his  mind  that 
day. 

"As  a  man  grows  old,"  he  said,  <lhe  likes 
to  feel  his  sons  as  natural  props  supporting 
him." 

Sebastian,  who  had  relapsed  into  silence, 
leaning  back  against  the  luxurious  cushions  of 
the  brougham — which,  by  the  way,  was  the 
first  indulgence  he  had  permitted  himself  that 
day, — felt  tempted  to  smile  once  more;  for  he 
found  a  ridiculous  incongruity,  somehow,  in 
the  thought  of  Alfred  as  a  prop, — Alfred,  who 
was  himself,  like  some  parasitic  plant,  supported 
entirely  by  the  strength  of  his  wife !  It  amused 
him  to  imagine,  for  instance,  how  Alfred  would 
have  comported  himself  in  presence  of  a  difficult 
negotiation  which  had  been  that  afternoon 
referred  from  the  senior  partner  to  himself. 
And  as  for  Louis — well,  he  was  more  difficult 
to  understand.  It  surprised  him  that  his  father 
should  have  reversed  the  judgment  of  the 
other  members  of  the  family,  and  have  referred 
to  the  medical  Louis,  and  not  to  the  legal 
Alfred,  as  the  better  business  man  of  the  two. 
It  dawned  upon  Sebastian  then,  if  it  had  never 
done  so  before,  that  he  was  the  real  head  of 
the  concern.  The  knowledge  thrilled  him  with 
a  sense  of  power,  of  exhilaration,  but  also  with 
a  sentiment  of  deep  pity  for  his  father,  who, 
never  intellectually  strong,  had  been  long  out 
grown  by  a  business  which,  for  many  years, 
had  been  carried  upon  the  shoulders  of  a  subor- 


io  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

dinate;     and    who    now,    in    the    weakness    of 
advancing  age,  was  looking  around  for  support. 

"It  would  really  pay  Alfred  to  give  up  his 
law  practice,"  resumed  the  elder  man. 

This  was  an  extremely  disquieting  suggestion 
to  Sebastian.  Alfred,  as  the  elder  brother, 
must  enter  the  firm,  if  enter  he  did,  as  superior 
to  himself;  and  what  endless  mistakes,  what 
work  half  done,  what  compromise,  what  futility, 
would  be  the  results!  He  did  not,  however, 
put  these  thoughts  into  words.  He  had  learned 
the  power  of  silence. 

"Louis  is,  I  think,  devoted  to  his  profession," 
David  Wilmot  . remarked  doubtfully;  and  it 
was  significant  that  both  the  speaker  and 
listener  felt  uncertain  as  to  the  precise  capa 
bilities  and  inclinations  of  the  second  son. 

"It  is  not  that  I  undervalue  you,"  declared 
the  father,  laying  his  hand  with  unwonted 
demonstrativeness  upon  Sebastian's  arm;  for 
the  latter 's  silence  at  that  moment  had  ap 
peared  to  him  as  possibly  resentful.  "Oh,  no, 
far  from  it!  I  depend  upon  you  so  much  that 
I  feel  as  if,  with  your  brothers  in  the  firm,  we 
could  do  almost  anything.  You  know  I  believe 
in  concentration." 

"So  do  I,"  agreed  Sebastian.  "I  believe  in 
it  entirely." 

This  ready  assent  was  puzzling  to  the  father, 
as  well  it  might  be ;  since  the  meaning  attached 
to  the  word  ' '  concentration ' '  by  his  son  was 
entirely  different  from  his  own. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  u 

"Concentration  is  strength,"  observed  the 
elder  man. 

"It  is  everything,"  replied  the  younger. 

( '  So  that  it  seems  to  me  that  all  the  energies 
or  talents  of  any  sort  that  are  in  a  family 
should  be  directed  to  the  one  end  of  building 
up  and  sustaining  such  a  concern  as  Wilmot 
&  Son." 

"In  spite  of  the  proverb  about  putting  all 
the  eggs  into  one  basket,"  said  Sebastian,  with 
a  laugh  that  grated  upon  his  father's  ears;  for 
he  divined  therein  opposition  to  his  pet  idea. 

"You're  a  strange  fellow!"  exclaimed  his 
father,  after  a  pause. 

' '  Every  one  is  really  strange  to  every  one 
else,"  replied  Sebastian. 

"I  mean  to  say  that  you're  different  from 
the  rest." 

"It  would  be  monotonous  if  we  were  all  of 
a  piece,"  smiled  the  younger  man. 

"I  wonder  how  things  will  be,"  the  father 
said  next,  in  the  manner  of  one  thinking  aloud, 
' '  when  you  come  to  marry  ?  And  it  is  not  such 
a  remote  contingency,  since  it  usually  happens 
to  most  men  even  before  your  age." 

"Do  you  mean,  father,"  Sebastian  asked, 
with  some  curiosity,  "that  I  shall  be  strange 
in  that  relation?" 

"I  mean  that  you'll  probably  find  it  hard 
enough  to  meet  a  young  woman  suited  to  your 
taste,  and  who  will  be  grave  and  serious- 
minded." 


12  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"Why,  father,"  cried  Sebastian,  laughing 
outright,  "my  wife  will  not  have  to  be  admitted 
into  the  firm !  Surely  she  need  not  be  weighted 
down  with  gravity." 

"I  don't  think,"  said  the  father,  "that  you 
will  want  a  butterfly." 

"I  have  no  present  use  for  one,"  Sebastian 
agreed. 

"But  I  am  tolerably  sure  you  will  marry." 

"It  is  hard  to  be  sure  of  anything,"  said 
Sebastian,— "  that  is,  as  far  as  the  experience 
of  twenty-eight  goes.  But  if  matrimony  befalls 
most  men,  as  you  remark,  why,  there  is  every 
chance  that  it  will  strike  me,  too." 

He  saw  the  humor  of  the  suggestion  that 
had  been  in  his  father's  tone — of  matrimony 
in  the  light  of  a  catastrophe,  or  at  least  a 
grim  necessity, — and  he  wondered,  as  he  had 
often  wondered  before,  if  this  view  of  the 
matter  arose  from  a  certain  incongruity  which 
he  had  unwillingly  recognized  between  his 
parents.  Though  his  attitude,  inward  as  well 
as  outward,  had  always  been  scrupulously 
filial,  Sebastian,  who  was  clear-sighted,  could 
not  help  wondering  at  times  if  David  Wilmot 
had  not  found  his  matrimonial  concerns,  like 
that  of  the  business,  beyond  him.  For  there 
was  the  wife,  impulsive,  emotional,  and  in 
various  respects,  different;  and  there  was  the 
husband,  who  seemed  forever  striving  to  keep 
up  with  her;  so  that  while,  in  his  portentous 
respectability  and  prosperity,  he  had  been 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  13 

ostensibly  the  head  of  the  house  and  a  com 
mander  whose  dictates  were  final,  there  was 
forever  in  the  background,  to  the  keen  mind 
of  the  young  observer,  something  in  his  father's 
attitude  that  savored  of  fear. 

"Whatever  you  do,"  cried  the  father,  in  a 
tone  that  fitted  in  oddly  with  the  other's 
reflections,  "have  a  care  when  it  comes  to 
matrimony!  For  that,  more  'than  anything 
else,  makes  or  mars  a  man." 

Trite  as  the  advice  might  seem,  it  set  Se 
bastian  wondering  more  than  ever  if  there 
had  not  been  something  that  approached  the 
tragic  in  an  apparently  commonplace  situation. 
And  yet  he  felt  quite  assured  that  his  father 
had  been  sincerely  devoted  to  his  mother; 
while  she,  in  her  own  fashion,  had  reciprocated 
the  attachment. 

There  was  a  considerable  silence,  after  which 
David  Wilmot,  still  following  the  course  of 
his  own  thoughts,  began: 

'There   are   your  mother  and   sister." 

Sebastian's  face  brightened.  His  mother  and 
sister  constituted  for  him  the  more  joyous  side 
of  life.  He  was  uncommonly  devoted  to  them 
both. 

"If  anything  should  happen  to  me,"  the 
elder  man  continued,  with  the  air  of  one  dis 
cussing  a  remote  contingency — "and  in  the 
course  of  nature  that  may  be  expected,  say 
in  a  decade  or  so, — you  will  have  the  additional 
burden  laid  upon  you  of  regulating  their  re- 


i4  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

spective  shares  of  the  estate.  1  have  en 
deavored  so  to  arrange  matters  (without  inter 
fering  with  the  business)  that  in  due  time  they 
may  get  their  full  share  of  the  income  as  it 
stands,  and  the  natural  increment  which,  under 
judicious  management,  the  concern  may  be 
expected  to  yield." 

"Why,  father,"  cried  Sebastian,  with  a  new 
note  of  feeling  in  his  voice,  "that  is  surely 
looking  far  ahead!  I  shall  have  plenty  of  time 
before  then  to  become  accustomed  to  my 
responsibilities. ' ' 

"Very  true,"  said  the  father;  "but  it  is 
precisely  by  looking  far  ahead  and  trying  to 
smooth  out  complications,  that  trouble  may 
be  avoided.  That  fact  has  been  strongly  borne 
*in  upon  me  during  these  last  days."  And  he 
presently  added,  turning  his  face  to  the  car 
riage  window,  so  that  it  was  concealed  from 
his  son:  "There  are  matters  to  be  settled  that 
may  offer  a  good  deal  of  difficulty.  I  need 
not  explain  their  nature,  since  I  expect  to 
deal  with  them  myself  without  delay,  so  that 
future  trouble  may  be  avoided.  But,  in  case 
of  an  emergency,  I  put  these  things  into  your 
hand.  You've  got  a  clear  head,  a  strong  will, 
and,  I  think,  an  upright  conscience.  And 
talking  of  that,"  he  said,  in  the  same  low, 
troubled  voice,  "I'm  afraid  I  have  done  little 
or  nothing  in  that  direction,  beyond  sending 
you  to  a  college  where  those  kind  of  things  are 
looked  after.  Yet,  my  son,  religion  is  a  great 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  15 

thing.  Talk  of  business  acumen,  of  smartness, 
of  anything  you  like!  They're  not  'in  it'  with 
religion  and  conscience." 

Sebastian  listened  in  amazement,  since  from 
his  earliest  childhood  he  had  never  known  his 
father  to  address  a  word  upon  that  subject  to 
himself  or  to  any  member  of  the  family.  And 
it  was  common  knowledge — glossed  over  as 
well  as  possible  by  the  mother,  who  was  at 
least  a  practical  Catholic — that  David  Wilmot 
never  attended  church  even  on  Sundays,  nor, 
so  far  as  was  known,  approached  the  Sacra 
ments.  His  pronouncement  was,  therefore,  all 
the  more  impressive;  though  the  voice  in 
which  it  was  made  seemed  thick  and  indistinct, 
and  was  presently  drowned  by  the  rumble  of 
wheels  and  the  roar  of  traffic  that  attended 
their  entrance  upon  a  thoroughfare.  The  two, 
in  fact,  fell  into  a  silence  that  lasted  until 
the  vehicle  in  which  they  sat  had  passed 
through  that  portion  of  New  York  where  one 
mighty  emporium  of  trade  seems  to  jostle 
another. 

Sebastian  read  the  familiar  signs  upon  those 
buildings,  as  he  had  done  countless  times 
before,  driving  thus  with  his  father  in  this 
slow  and  conservative  equipage,  which  David 
Wilmot  was  obstinate  in  preferring  to  a  motor. 
The  young  man's  eyes  wandered  thence  to  the 
sun,  which  was  approaching  its  setting,— 
blazing  no  longer  with  the  fire  of  noonday, 
but  grave  and  shadowed.  He  seemed  to  trace 


16  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

something    ominous    in    that    splendor,    which 
already  gave  token  of  departure. 

Just  before  the  carriage  reached  the  Wilmot 
dwelling,  Sebastian  inquired,  with  a  shade  of 
anxiety  in  his  tone: 

"I  hope  you  don't  feel  any  worse  than  usual 
to-day,  father?" 

"No — no — I  can't  say  that  I  feel  much 
worse — nothing  to  speak  of;  only  the  weather 
strikes  me  as  being  rather  oppressive  for  the 
season." 

"I  think,"  commented  Sebastian,  "that  it 
would  have  been  wiser  if  you  had  taken  my 
advice  and  gone  to  join  mother  and  Margie 
at  the  sea,  even  for  a  few  wrecks." 

"Too  much  responsibility  to  leave  upon  you." 
objected  the  father.  "And  there's  just  a  case 
in  point:  if  your  brothers  had  been  with  you, 
I  should  have  gone." 

Sebastian  made  no  further  remark,  but  at 
the  foot  of  the  steps  offered  his  arm  to  his 
father,  who  accepted  the  support  without  pro 
test,  leaning  upon  it  rather  heavily.  The  young 
man  admitted  his  father  to  the  house,  after 
which  he  stood  still  a  moment  and  let  his 
eyes  rest  upon  the  greenness  of  the  square 
just  opposite  the  dwelling,  with  a  sudden  and 
passionate  wish  for  the  beauty  and  joy  of 
living,  and  an  existence  which  embraced  other 
elements  than  those  that  bound  him  to  the 
office.  And  yet  not  for  worlds  would  he  have 
relinquished  that  weapon,  wrhich  the  colossal 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  17 

fabric  of  Wilmot  &  Son  had  made  ready  to 
his  hand,  for  attaining  the  pinnacle  of  his 
ambition. 

As  he  looked,  white  butterflies,  first  one, 
then  another,  flitted  past. 

"I  thought  their  day  was  done  long  ago," 
Sebastian  said  to  himself.  "It  must  be  the 
unusual  heat  that  has  kept  them  alive  so  long." 

And,  standing  thus  at  the  top  of  the  brown 
stone  steps,  he  watched  them  with  a  curious 
fascination.  The  thought  flashed  into  his  mind 
of  the  hint  thrown  out  by  his  father  regarding 
a  butterfly.  He  smiled,  since  the  idea  was 
not  unwelcome.  Woman  had  so  far  been  asso 
ciated  in  his  mind  with  what  was  most  pleasant ; 
and  why  should  she  not  be,  later,  the  epitome, 
as  it  were,  of  air  and  sunshine, — a  soft,  white, 
gentle  being,  who,  like  these  insects,  might 
flit  across  his  daily  path  without  penetrating 
to  its  depths?  It  would  be  pleasant  to  have 
some  one  upon  whom  to  lavish  those  spoils 
which  he  hoped  to  gather  in  yet  greater  abun 
dance  ;  some  one  who  might  be  clothed  in  rich 
attire,  if  such  were  her  pleasure,  and,  loving 
and  beloved,  be  kept  aloof  from  the  weari 
some  details  of  that  daily  grind  which  was 
endurable,  even  necessary, — the  hard,  recurrent 
strokes  by  which  man  carves  out  his  destiny. 

Still  smiling,  he  followed  his  father  into  the 
deserted  house.  How  purposeless  and  dreary 
it  appeared,  under  the  guardianship  of  a  man 
servant,  who  acted  as  factotum  while  the 


i8  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

others  were  away  at  the  sea  with  their  mistress. 
After  a  long  day's  work,  Sebastian  always  felt 
that  he  hated  men.  When  the  day  had  been 
particularly  trying,  he  usually  gave  himself 
up,  when  they  were  there,  to  the  chatter  of 
his  mother  and  sister,  or  other  female  relatives, 
even  when  the  subjects  chosen  chanced  to  be 
of  the  most  frivolous. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  19 


III. 

SEBASTIAN  found  it  hard  to  sleep  that  night, 
though  he  was  habitually  a  good  sleeper;  for 
mind  and  body  were  usually  exhausted  by  the 
hard  labors  of  the  day.  The  conversation  with 
his  father  had  somewhat  disturbed  him.  As 
the  hours  of  darkness  wore  on,  toward  the 
breaking  of  day  he  felt  an  impalpable  some 
thing  of  unrest,  an  overpowering  heaviness  in 
the  atmosphere.  Once  he  got  up  softly  and 
went  in  the  direction  of  his  father's  sleeping 
apartment.  He  was  not  there,  but  a  trail  of 
light  from  under  the  door  showed  that  he  was 
in  a  small,  adjoining  chamber  which  he  used 
as  a  study.  By  an  unaccountable  feeling, 
Sebastian  was  led  to  tap  at  the  door;  and, 
opening  it  slightly,  perceived  his  father,  still 
dressed,  and  writing  at  a  table  which  was 
strewn  thickly  with  papers.  He  looked  up 
sharply  at  his  son,  and,  by  an  involuntary 
movement,  placed  his  hand  over  a  sheet  of 
paper  upon  which  he  had  been  writing.  To 
Sebastian's  inquiry  as  to  whether  he  was  well, 
he  answered,  somewhat  irritably,  that  he  was; 
and  Sebastian,  divining  that  his  presence  was 
unwelcome,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  with- 


20  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

drew.  He  had  gone  only  a  few  steps,  however, 
when  his  father  called  after  him : 

"Good-night,  my  boy!" 

"Good-night,  father!"  said  the  son.  "You 
should  try  to  get  some  rest." 

"Presently  I   shall,"  replied  the  father. 

Sebastian,  on  returning  to  his  own  room, 
sat  down  near  the  window  for  a  breath  of 
fresh  air.  The  crescent  of  a  waning  moon  was 
dying  out  of  a  heaven  filled  with  stars,  and 
there  was  a  fresh  breeze  blowing  over  the 
Park.  That  enclosure,  pale  and  shadowy  in 
the  moonlight,  was  touched  with  something 
ghostly  and  ethereal, — a  weirdness  that  appealed 
to  the  imaginative  side  of  the  observer's  char 
acter.  He  would  have  liked  to  dress,  and  go 
down  there,  into  the  freshness  and  silence;  or, 
still  better,  to  plunge  into  the  ordinary  business 
of  the  day,  so  intensely  wide-awake  and  alert 
did  he  now  feel;  for  within  his  own  apartment 
there  rested  a  shadow,  by  which  he  was  op 
pressed  and  disquieted. 

He  sat  in  an  armchair  beside  the  window 
and  watched  the  moon  sink  out  of  the  sky, 
like  a  life  that  is  spent.  He  marvelled  at  the 
quiet  of  the  city,  the  throbbing  of  its  arteries 
stilled.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  waiting  for  some 
thing.  Gradually  the  darkness  melted;  object 
after  object  became  visible  with  a  strange 
effect  of  familiarity,  like  old  acquaintances 
reappearing  after  an  absence.  The  leaves  of 
the  trees  showed  white  in  the  first  faint  breeze 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  21 

of  the  dawn,  and  pale  streaks  likewise  appeared 
against  the  grayness  of  the  horizon.  They  grew 
and  intensified  into  a  dazzling  field  of  light; 
showering  gold,  as  it  seemed,  downward  upon 
the  landscape.  Resting  upon  the  edges  and 
undersides  of  the  leaves,  it  transformed  them 
as  by  magic. 

Even  when  those  brilliant  flecks  of  light  had 
found  their  way  into  the  room,  which  they 
illumined  to  its  remotest  corners,  Sebastian  was 
still  pursued  by  that  vague  sense  of  uneasiness, 
impossible  to  explain.  He  softly  opened  the 
door  of  his  room  and  passed  into  the  hall. 
The  corridor,  spacious  as  it  was,  was  close 
after  the  night,  since  neither  air  nor  light 
penetrated  there.  The  door  of  his  father's 
room  was  ajar.  All  was  still  therein,  and  Se 
bastian  feared  to  disturb  the  sleeper.  Weighing 
upon  him  more  than  ever,  and  now  with  a 
chill  of  clearly  defined  terror,  was  that  impal 
pable  something.  He  pushed  the  door  ever  so 
slightly  open,  with  a  movement  that  could  not 
by  any  possibility  be  disturbing,  and  glanced 
toward  the  bed.  There  was  nothing,  at  first 
sight,  to  cause  uneasiness, — nothing  tangible 
or  immediately  visible.  Nevertheless,  the  young 
man  rushed  forward,  no  longer  with  the  fear 
of  wakening  the  sleeper,  but  with  a  sudden, 
overpowering  dread  that  he  could  never,  by 
any  process  whatsoever,  be  awakened  any  more. 
He  flew  to  the  window  and  threw  out  the 
blinds,  that  the  light  might  fall  full  upon  the 


22  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

face  of  the  figure  in  the  bed.  Its  repose  was 
absolute,  fixed,  unchangeable, — the  repose  that 
comes  but  once  to  the  children  of  men.  Se 
bastian  aprjfcached,  with  a  feeling  of  terror 
that  caused  him  to  shake  as  w-ith  an  ague, 
and  drew  aside  the  clothes.  Despite  an  intense 
physical  repulsion,  he  touched  the  stiffening 
body  and  laid  a  hand  upon  the  heart. 

By  a  purely  mechanical  movement  he  hurried 
to  the  telephone  in  the  adjoining  study,  and, 
seizing  the  receiver  of  the  instrument  that 
had  been  last  raised  to  the  ear  of  the  dead, 
he  called  up  the  nearest  church,  with  an  emer 
gency  call  for  a  priest.  That  was  the  sure 
instinct  of  faith,  overtopping  every  other  con 
sideration.  This  done,  with  a  surprising  calm 
ness  he  asked  for  his  brother  Louis'  number; 
and  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  the  doctor, 
who  had  just  come  in  from  a  wearisome  case. 

"Bring  another  doctor  with  you;  and  for 
God's  sake  come  as  quickly  as  you  can!  I 
fear  it  is  the  end,"  was  the  message  to  which 
Louis  made  instant  preparations  to  respond. 

The  priest,  however,  was  the  first  to  reach 
the  house.  He  was  admitted  by  the  trembling 
and  a\ve-stricken  servant  whom  Sebastian  had 
roused,  and  to  whom  he  had  given  a  few  brief 
instructions.  Passing  up  the  heavily  carpeted 
stairs  with  a  haste  that  took  no  note  of  the 
luxurious  surroundings,  the  minister  of  God 
approached  the  bed,  and,  bending,  examined 
the  motionless  figure.  Then  he  took  from  the 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  23 

bag  he  carried  a  purple  stole,  and  stood  there, 
a  wonderfully  solemn  and  impressive  figure  in 
his  almost  boyish  youthfuiness. 

' '  I  am  going  to  give  him  conditional  absolu 
tion,"  he  said,  with  a  pitying  glance  at  Se 
bastian,  who  with  strained  eagerness  watched 
his  movements;  "and  also  Extreme  Unction." 

"Do  you  think,  then,  there  is  life?"  The 
words  were  almost  inarticulate. 

The  priest  paused  for  an  instant  before 
replying  simply: 

"I  am  going  to  give  him  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt." 

Standing  erect,  he  raised  his  hand.  So 
slender  and  youthful  it  was,  and  yet  Sebastian's 
inmost  soul  was  filled  with  the  realization  that 
all  the  might  of  the  universe  was  not  equal 
to  the  power  that  tadiatcd  thence, — that  cen 
turies-old  power,  divinest  gift  to  sinful  man. 

Through  and  through  the  silence  of  the 
room,  the  low-spoken  words  of  the  priest 
thrilled  and  vibrated:  "Ego  te  absoh'o, — I 
absolve  thce  in  the  name  of  the  Father  and  of 
the  Son  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost."  After  which 
the  priest  wasted  not  an  instant;  while  Se 
bastian,  taking  up  a  prayer-book  belonging  to 
his  mother  which  lay  near,  answered  those 
sublimely  beautiful  prayers  which  attend  the 
closing  scene  of  the  mortal  drama. 

The  Sacrament  administered,  the  young  curate 
knelt  down  and  recited,  in  a  voice  that  faltered 
from  his  sense  of  the  tragedy  that  had  just 


24  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

been  enacted  in  that  richly  appointed  bedroom, 
the  De  Profundis.  Once  more  the  words  seemed 
to  resound  through  the  still  air,  and  go  forth 
from  that  open  window  into  the  vastness  of 
the  city,  now  waking  into  life.  They  seemed 
to  mock  the  luxury  of  the  apartment;  while 
each  syllable  fell  like  lead  upon  Sebastian's 
heart,  burning  and  searing  it;  showing  that 
no  hope  remained,  and  making  him  realize 
the  gulf  over  which  had  passed  the  lately  living 
garrulous  father. 

At  the  last  verse  of  the  Psalm,  Louis  rushed 
into  the  room,  crying: 

"What  is  it,  Sebastian?    What- 

He  stopped  on  seeing  that  the  two  were  on 
their  knees,  and  that  one  of  them  wras  a  priest. 
He  heard  the  concluding  words  of  the  prayer, 
and  an  ashy  paleness  overspread  his  face. 
Composing  his  manner,  however,  to  something 
of  professional  calm,  he  approached  the  bed, 
and,  drawing  over  a  chair,  sat  down  beside 
the  patient,  who  had  passed  beyond  his  skill. 
He  raised  his  head  after  a  moment;  while 
the  priest  withdrew  a  little,  and  the  brothers 
faced  each  other. 

"He  has  been  dead  some  time,"  said  Louis, 
in  a  low  tone. 

'That  is  what  I  feared,"  observed  the 
priest.  "May  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  his 
soul!" 

At  those  words  horror  of  another  sort  seized 
upon  the  soul  of  Sebastian,  tingling  through 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  25 

ail  his  veins  and  benumbing  his  senses.  For 
suddenly  he  realized  the  immensity,  the  infin 
itude  of  all  that  had  been  neglected  in  the 
rush  of  affairs  that  had  but  lately  seemed  all 
important.  And  now  these  affairs  of  yesterday 
were  as  nothing,  and  something  supremely  im 
portant  had  happened  to  the  soul  that  had 
escaped  into  life. 

"Oh,  poor  father,"  cried  Sebastian, — "dear, 
dear  father ! ' '  And  it  seemed  as  if  all  the 
pity  and  tenderness  of  his  nature  were  com 
pressed  into  that  exclamation. 

Louis,  regarding  him  intently,  came  forward, 
took  his  hand  and  looked  into  his  face. 

"It  is  a  dreadful  blow,  old  fellow!"  he  said. 

"The  most  dreadful  part  is  that  he"  (point 
ing  mechanically  toward  the  priest)  "was  too 
late." 

Louis  bent  his  head,  while  Sebastian  asked: 

"And  you  are  sure  that  there  is  no  hope  of 
his  having  been  alive  when— 

Louis  turned  away. 

"I  have  asked  Doctor  Martin  to  come,"  he 
answered.  "  He  will  make  another  examination. 
And"  (pausing  to  listen  to  the  opening  of  the 
street  door  below)  "here  he  is  now!" 

Louis  went  to  meet  him  in  the  hall. 

"I  am  sorry,  Doctor,"  he  said,  "torvhave 
given  you  the  trouble  of  coming ;  for  the  veriest 
tyro  could  tell  that  life  has  been  some  time 
extinct." 

Nevertheless  there  was  a  flicker  of  hope  in 


26  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Sebastian's  heart  as  the  great  physician  made 
a  far  more  careful  and  exhaustive  examination 
than  Louis  had  done. 

"I  am  forced  to  agree  with  you,  Doctor," 
he  replied,  addressing  the  second  son;  "though 
the  appearances  of  death  are  sometimes  very 
deceptive." 

As  they  descended  the  stairs  together,  Se 
bastian  said  to  Louis: 

"Perhaps  Doctor  Martin  will  be  the  better 
for  some  refreshment.  Will  you  see  to  that, 
Louis?" 

The  same  invitation  was  extended  to  the 
priest;  but  he  declined,  remarking  that  he  had 
yet  to  say  Mass.  Sebastian  pressed  into  his 
hand  a  sum  of  money  for  Masses.  "Have  them 
said  as  soon  as  possible,"  he  begged;  and  the 
priest,  after  a  few  \vords  of  sympathy,  and 
promising  to  return  again,  took  his  leave. 

Going  to  the  phone,  Sebastian  then  notified 
his  brother  Alfred;  and,  that  done,  re-entered 
the  silent  room,  and,  throwing  himself  down, 
prayed  as  he  had  not  prayed  at  least  since  his 
college  days;  striving  to  calm,  if  he  might, 
the  aching  at  his  heart.  He  remained  there 
undisturbed — for  Louis  was  still  detained  with 
his  fellow-physician  below — until  the  arrival  of 
Alfred  and  his  wife. 

The  former  was  a  pale  man,  with  hair  that 
scarcely  differed  from  the  yellow  tint  of  his 
puffy  cheeks,  and  a  manner  dull  and  pompous. 
He  was  naturally  as  much  disturbed  by  the 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  27 

tragic  happening  of  the  night  as  it  was  possible 
for  such  a  nature  as  his  to  be.  The  wife,  lithe 
and  agile,  and  with  a  surplus  of  energy  in  her 
attenuated  person,  began  at  once  to  interest 
herself  in  the  affairs. 

"It  is  all  so  very  dreadful,  Sebastian!"  she 
cried.  "You  must  tell  us  everything  when 
you  feel  able." 

Her  tone,  somehow,  implied  that  there  was 
a  great  deal  which  Alfred  and  she  should  have 
heard  earlier;  and  Sebastian  said  gravely: 

"There  is  very  little  to  tell.  The  doctor 
believes — it  was  very  sudden." 

"You  poor,  poor  boy!"  said  the  lady.  "You 
shall  not  tell  us  anything  more.  But  have 
they  been  notified?" 

'They?  My  God,  no!"  replied  Sebastian, 
with  a  groan.  For  so  long  it  had  been  his 
custom  to  spare  them  everything  unpleasant 
that,  in  his  present  dazed  condition,  he  forgot 
the  very  essential  duty  of  letting  his  mother 
and  sister  know.  He  recoiled  from  the  task 
with  an  indescribable  dread. 

"I  will  send  a  telegram  at  once!"  he  said. 

"No:  Alfred  will  do  it,"  his  sister-in-law 
answered.  "You  really  must  not  attempt  to 
do  any  more." 

"I  will  do  that,"  he  said  resolutely;  and, 
going  into  his  father's  study,  he  wrote  out  the 
dispatch . 

Louis,  coming  in  and  leaning  over  his  shoulder, 
made  the  suggestion  that  he  should  send  a  first 


28  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

one,  saying,  simply:  "Come  at  once.  Father 
ill." 

This  being  done,  Sebastian  wandered  rest 
lessly  about  without  any  definite  idea  in  his 
mind  save  that  of  wonder  as  to  how  his  mother 
and  Margie  would  receive  the  shocking  news. 
His  mind  dwelt  longest,  perhaps,  upon  the 
latter.  With  a  passionate  gush  of  tenderness, 
he  remembered  her  as  a  little,  fair-haired  child 
running  to  the  door  to  meet  her  father. 

In  the  fever  of  restlessness  that  was  upon 
him,  he  again  entered  the  study  where  his 
father  had  been  busy  during  the  last  hours 
of  his  earthly  existence.  He  saw  the  table 
was  strewn  with  papers  upon  which  his  father 
had  been  working;  and,  by  an  indefinable 
impulse,  he  swept  them  all  into  the  drawer 
and  possessed  himself  of  the  key.  Remember 
ing  the  hint  which  his  father  had  thrown  out 
in  their  last  conversation,  concerning  certain 
difficulties  with  which  Sebastian,  in  case  of  an 
emergency,  would  have  to  deal,  it  seemed 
essential  that  he  should  have  the  clue  to  their 
nature,  if  such  clue  were  to  be  found  amongst 
those  papers. 

The  day  that  followed  seemed  interminable 
to  Sebastian.  Mrs.  Alfred  glided  about  from 
one  room  to  another,  and,  with  the  assistance 
of  one  of  her  servants  whom  she  had  brought 
thither,  put  the  house  in  order  for  the  coming 
of  its  mistress;  while  the  Sisters  of  Charity 
prayed  in  the  room  with  the  dead.  Toward 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  29 

evening  Sebastian  sat  with  his  two  brothers  in 
the  aimless  fashion  that  belongs  to  such  occa 
sions,  vaguely  noting  that  Alfred  was  scarcely 
less  dull  and  flaccid  than  usual,  and  Louis 
restless  and  uneasy.  It  was  the  former  who 
inquired,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  his  younger 
brother : 

"Didn't  you  notice  any  symptoms  in  poor 
father  that  could  have  prepared  you  for  the 
sad  ending?" 

"What's  the  use  of  interjecting  adjectives, 
Alfred?"  put  in  Louis,  irritably;  but  Sebastian 
responded  to  the  inquiry  after  an  instant  of 
hesitation : 

"I  can't  say  that  I  noticed  anything  very 
marked,  except  that  he  complained  of  finding 
the  weather  oppressive,  and  took  my  arm  in 
going  up  the  steps.  Then  there  was,  perhaps, 
a  rather  unusual  way  of  talking." 

"Way  of  talking?"  echoed  Alfred,  taking  out 
a  cigar,  which  he  began  to  light  with  an  exas 
perating  deliberation.  The  proceeding  jarred 
upon  Sebastian.  To  him  it  seemed  incongruous, 
under  the  circumstances;  but  he  shook  off  the 
feeling,  and  condescended  to  give  the  informa 
tion  asked  for. 

"Father  talked  a  good  deal,"  he  said,  "about 
the  business  and  its  responsibilities,  which  he 
considered  were  too  much  for  one  person.  He 
seemed  to  regret  that  you  two  were  not  members 
of  the  firm." 


30  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Alfred  puffed  meditatively  at  his  cigar  and 
nodded,  as  he  observed: 

"Just  what  my  wife  was  telling  me." 

Louis  said  nothing,  but,  folding  one  nervous 
hand  over  the  other,  looked  at  them  as  though 
he  were  engaged  in  considering  their  anatomical 
structure. 

"I  suggested,"  continued  Sebastian,  "that 
he  should  have  gone  to  Newport  with  the 
others,  as  I  had  frequently  urged  him  to  do. 
But  he  declared  that  such  procedure  would 
have  been  impossible,  since  it  left  me  alone." 

Alfred  looked  uneasy.  He  took  the  cigar 
from  his  mouth. 

"if  such  is  the  case,"  he  said,  "and  no  one 
was  better  qualified  to  judge  than  our  lament— 
(he  glanced  at  Louis  and  suppressed  the  adjec 
tive)  "than  father,  it  is  a  bad  business.  What 
will  you  do  now?  What  will  any  of  us  do? 
For  should  the  business  go  to  the  wall,  our 
professional  incomes — I  speak  for  Louis  and 
myself — will  be  insufficient  for  everyday 
demands." 

"What  will  you  do?  Why,  whatever  you 
think  best,  of  course,"  observed  Sebastian. 

But  here  Louis  put  aside  both  speakers 
definitely. 

"You,  Sebastian,"  he  said,  "have  been  for 
some  time  past — and  you  know  it — the  real 
head  of  the  business;  in  fact,  the  only  one  that 
counted." 

A  flame  shot  forth  from  the  eyes  of  Sebas- 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  31 

tian  for  an  instant.  Who  does  not  like  to  find 
his  capacity  recognized  at  its  full  value!  But 
it  died  in  an  instant,  in  a  wave  of  half -remorseful 
pity  for  the  dead  man  who  had  done  his  best 
and  yet  of  whom  this  could  be  said.  Sebastian 
felt  resentful  against  Louis  for  having  put  it 
into  words,  though  he  had  a  different  sort  of 
resentment  against  Alfred,  who  had  denied  his 
competency.  The  last-named  shook  his  head 
portentously. 

"I  hope  you  are  right,  Louis,"  he  said. 
"But  my  wife  is  quite  of  my  opinion:  that  it 
is  too  great  responsibility  to  be  thrown  upon 
a  young  man  like  Sebastian." 

"A  man  does  not  feel  so  very  young  at 
twenty-eight,"  murmured  Sebastian,  thinking 
how  much  older  he  felt  than  one  at  least  of 
the  two  men  before  him,  and  what  a  burden 
of  difficult  decisions  and  weighty  affairs  he 
had  borne  upon  his  shoulders.  Indeed,  the 
chief  misgiving  that  he  now  felt  was  the  diffi 
culty  of  coping  with  just  such  an  attitude! of 
mind  on  the  part  of  some,  both  within  and 
without,  of  the  family.  Men  who  had  been 
dealing  with  him  for  months  past,  under  the 
shadow  of  his  father's  age  and  experience, 
might  now  distrust  him.  As  he  sat  back  in 
his  chair  and  surveyed  his  brothers,  he  had  a 
feeling  that  he  might  discover  in  Alfred — or, 
more  properly,  speaking  in  his  wife — an  officious 
and  perhaps  actively  interfering  critic.  It  was 
a  relief  to  find,  even  though  it  was  a  shock  to 


32  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

hear   it   baldly   stated,    that   Louis   understood 
the  situation. 

The  latter,  in  answer  to  what  Alfred  had 
observed  last,  exclaimed: 

"Those  things  have  nothing  at  all  to  do  with 
a  man's  age,  unless  in  the  sense  that  a  preference 
should  generally  be  accorded  to  youth!" 

While  Alfred  gasped  at  this  revolutionary 
statement,  Louis  went  on  to  explain: 

"I  am  not  undervaluing  anything  that  age 
can  give  us.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  in  our 
complex  modern  system,  especially  where  com 
mercial  matters  are  concerned,  only  a  young 
man  can  cope  with  the  difficulties." 

Alfred  smiled  incredulously. 

"Was  it  age  or  was  it  youth  that  placed 
Wilmot  &  Co.  where  it  is?"  he  inquired, 
sententiously. 

"I  presume  that  father  was  a  young  man 
when  he  laid  its  foundations  and  did  the 
strenuous  work,"  Louis  replied.  And,  with  the 
first  touch  of  feeling  that  he  had  shown  duiing 
the  interview,  he  added:  "No  one  could  be 
farther  than  I  from  undervaluing  what  he 
has  done  for  us  all,  and  what  we  have  lost  in 
him.  I  can't  think  calmly  of  it  yet.  But, 
nevertheless,  as  I  understand  the  situation, 
Sebastian  holds  it  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand." 

There  was  a  perceptible  pause  of  some 
moments,  during  which  Alfred  smoked  in  a 
plainly  dissenting  silence,  which  he  was  the 
first  to  break. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  33 

"To  go  back  to  where  we  started,"  he  said: 
' '  so  you  did  not  notice  any  alarming  symptoms 
in  the  deceased?" 

"No,"  answered  Sebastian.  "I  sat  with  him 
during  the  evening,  and  he  seemed  much  as 
usual.  Later,  unable  to  sleep  myself,  and  feel 
ing  somehow  uneasy,  I  went  to  his  door,  and 
found  that  he  had  not  gone  to  bed,  but  was 
in  his  study.  I  asked  him  if  he  felt  ill.  He 
replied  in  the  negative,  seeming  annoyed  at 
my  presence,  which  had  disturbed  him  in  some 
work  he  was  doing." 

It  was  now  Louis'  turn  to  ask: 

"You  don't  happen  to  know  the  nature  of 
that  work?" 

"  I  do  not,"  Sebastian  answered. 

' '  I  am  asking  from  a  professional  point  of 
view,  of  course,"  said  the  Doctor.  "For  I 
suspect  that  it  was  some  perturbation  of  mind, 
probably  over  a  difficult  point  of  business,  that, 
together  with  the  heat  and  over-fatigue,  caused 
dissolution." 

"Regrets  are  useless,"  said  Sebastian;  "but 
I  wish  we  had  all  persuaded  him  to  go  away, 
even  at  the  risk  of  my  wrecking  the  business 
in  the  meantime." 

The  sarcasm  was  intended  for  those  (includ 
ing  nearly  all  the  members  of  the  family)  who 
had  agreed  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
David  Wilmot  to  go  to  the  sea,  or  to  leave 
town  at  all,  in  that  unusually  busy  time. 

1 '  I  advised  him  to  that  effect  some  months 


34  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

ago,"  said  Louis;  "but,  as  you  say,  regrets 
are  useless  now." 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the 
appearance  of  Mrs.  Alfred. 

"A  telegram  has  just  come  for  you,  Sebastian." 

He  took  it,  and  read  aloud: 

"We  can  not  reach  the  city  until  seven  in 
the  morning.  A  slight  accident  to  train  has 
caused  delay.  MARGIE." 

Sebastian  turned  to  the  window,  away  from 
the  prying  eyes  that  were  reading  the  signs 
of  suffering  on  his  face.  For  the  thought  of 
that  home-coming  was  as  acid  on  a  raw  wound. 

"God  help  them!"  he  murmured;  while  Mrs. 
Alfred,  following  him  over  to  the  window  and 
laying  a  hand  on  his  arm,  said: 

"You  mustn't  feel  a  bit  anxious.  Alfred  and 
I  will  see  to  everything.  And  we'll  meet  the 
dear  ones  at  the  train." 

"I  thought,"  said  Sebastian,  "of  going  there 
myself." 

"No,  no!"  she  rejoined.  "I  can  see  that 
you  are  quite  unnerved  by  this  awful  shock. 
It  is  better  that,  in  so  public  a  place  as  the 
station,  they  should  be  met  by  Alfred,  who  is 
always  calm  and  composed.  You  see,  we  want 
to  spare  you  everything  we  can." 

"Arrange  it  as  you  like,"  said  Sebastian, 
wearily.  For  he  did  not  feel  equal  to  a  contest; 
and,  after  all,  it  could  not  matter  very  much. 

He  left  the  room  and  went  upstairs  again, 
where  he  joined  the  Sisters  in  the  recitation 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  35 

of  the  Rosary, — with  the  wish,  overmastering 
everything  else,  that  he,  that  they  all,  had 
given  more  attention  to  these  matters,  and  had 
been  less  exclusively  occupied  with  the  fleeting 
affairs  of  time. 

It  was,  therefore,  at  the  door  only  that 
Sebastian  received  the  two  travel-worn  and 
grief -stricken  women.  He  took  his  mother  into 
his  arms,  looking  down  at  her  from  his  height 
with  love  and  tenderness,  but  saying  little,— 
as  indeed  there  was  little  to  be  said.  Although 
Mrs.  Wilmot  comported  herself  more  calmly 
than  might  have  been  expected,  she  waved 
aside  the  suggestion,  made  by  I/ouis,  that  she 
should  take  at  least  a  cup  of  coffee  before 
visiting  the  chamber  of  death. 

She  began  to  ascend  the  stairs  alone,  and 
with  something  of  her  wTonted  impetuosity. 
Sebastian  followed,  putting  his  arm  about 
Margie,  who  was  shivering,  and  drew  her  close 
to  his  side,  as  if  striving  to  give  her  warmth 
and  comfort.  When  they  had  reached  the  top 
of  the  stairs,  the  girl  laid  her  head  against  her 
brother  and  sobbed  convulsively.  It  was  but 
for  a  moment.  Mastering  herself  by  a  brave 
effort,  she  went  after  her  mother  into  the  silent 
room,  where  the  Sisters  rose  to  greet  them. 
Mrs.  Wilmot  advanced  straight  to  the  bier, 
and,  after  a  long  gaze  into  the  familiar  features, 
with  their  new  repose  and  dignity,  sank  upon 
her  knees,  where  she  was  joined  by  the  weeping 
Margie.  Sebastian  stole  softly  away  from  the 


36  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

door  and  down  to  where  Louis  was  pacing  the 
hall.  He  looked  around  for  Alfred;  but  the 
latter  had  fled  from  the  too  painful  scene,  and 
Sebastian  heard  his  voice  in  conference  with 
his  wife  in  the  living  room. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  37 


IV. 

IT  was  late  at  night.  Mrs.  Wilmot  and  Margie 
had  been  induced  to  take  some  rest.  Louis 
had  gone  to  attend  one  or  two  urgent  cases 
amongst  his  patients,  where  a  substitute  would 
not  be  accepted.  Mrs.  Alfred  had  returned 
home  for  the  night,  and  Alfred  was  drearily 
dozing  in  the  living  room.  Sebastian  had  re 
mained  alone,  watching  with  the  two  Sisters 
of  Charity,  silent  and  prayerful  figures.  It 
occurred  to  him  that  there  was  a  good  oppor 
tunity  to  examine  his  father's  papers  before 
the  lawyers  and  others  arrived  for  the  reading 
of  the  will,  or  whatsoever  formalities  might  be 
necessitated  by  the  great  change. 

it  seemed  somehow  like  a  desecration,  and 
he  felt  he  had  no  right  to  enter  that  room, 
which  had  been  the  special  sanctum  of  the 
deceased.  His  father  had  retired  there  when 
he  had  anything  important  to  decide,  or,  as 
Sebastian  suspected,  when  he  was  over- weary 
and  disposed  for  solitude.  The  young  man 
could  understand  now  as,  declining  to  occupy 
the  vacant  chair,  he  had  seated  himself  con 
fronting  it,  how  the  ponderous  and  heavy  man, 
when  the  talk  below  was  all  light  and  frivolous, 


38  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

and  when,  perhaps,  he  had  felt  his  own  presence 
a  restraint,  had  come  up  thither,  his  departure 
being  hailed  with  unconscious  relief.  Sitting 
there  alone,  with  some  twinges  of  self -remorse, 
the  young  man  strove  to  realize  what  might 
have  been  his  father's  feelings  under  such  cir 
cumstances:  whether  he  had  been  depressed 
by  the  isolation  in  which  he  often  found  himself, 
or  if  his  slow  intuitions  had  taken  but  little 
note  thereof.  It  almost  seemed  at  last,  to  the 
watcher,  as  if  the  chair  opposite  were  occupied 
by  that  portly  and  important  figure  lying  now 
so  still  and  so  awful  in  its  shroud. 

Sebastian  began  to  feel  that  he  could  stand 
it  no  longer,  but  must  get  through  the  business 
that  had  brought  him  thither — the  examination 
of  those  papers  upon  which  his  father  had  last 
been  engaged,  and  which  he  instinctively  felt 
were  not  for  every  eye.  He  realized,  too,  at 
that  moment  that,  though  there  had  never 
been  a  very  strong  bond  of  sympathy  between 
them,  they  had  been,  in  fact,  most  intimately 
united.  For,  apart  from  the  hints  which  his 
father  had  given  him  in  that  memorable  con 
versation,  he  was  quite  convinced  that  he 
alone — he  in  preference  to  all  others — should 
look  upon  those  papers  and  whatever  self- 
revelation  they  might  contain.  He  shrank 
more  sensitively  than  any  of  the  others  wrould 
have  done,  with  the  exception  perhaps  of 
Margie,  from  the  idea  that  something  might 
be  discovered, — something  for  which  his  father's 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  39 

broken  words  in  the  carriage  had  in  a  measure 
prepared  him. 

With  a  nervous  hand  he  unlocked  the  drawer 
and  took  thence  all  the  papers  which  he  had 
swept  into  its  depths  upon  the  night  of  the 
death.  Most  of  them  were  of  little  importance,— 
bills  which  had  been  paid,  notes  upon  various 
business  transactions,  which,  to  the  acute  mind 
of  the  observer,  possibly  betrayed  the  paucity 
even  in  that  direction  of  his  father's  resources. 
It  must  have  been  nearing  midnight  when 
suddenly  Sebastian  was  confronted  with  some 
thing  that  appalled  him,  that  took  all  the 
courage  from  his  trembling  frame.  The  room 
was  dimly  lighted  by  a  single  electric  bulb; 
though  at  his  elbow  stood  a  half-burned  taper 
which  his  father  had  been  using  to  seal  letters, 
but  which  Sebastian  with  a  shudder  refrained 
from  relighting. 

This  was  no  hideous  spectre  of  the  night, 
however;  no  shape  that  had  taken  on  the 
semblance  of  the  deceased;  nothing  palpable 
nor  tangible.  Still  it  took  the  living  son  by 
the  throat  and  gripped  him,  changing  his  whole 
outlook  upon  life.  His  imagination  leaped 
forth  as  a  flame,  and  hurried  him  backward 
into  the  dark  recesses  of  the  past  and  forward 
into  a  future  thus  transformed  and  trans 
mogrified.  It  showed  him  in  a  swift  flash  the 
effect  which  this  terrific  thing,  that  had  stared 
at  him  from  those  closely-written  pages,  would 
have  upon  the  life  and  character,  did  it  ever 


40  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

pass  his  lips,  of  those  who  now  more  than  ever 
were  in  his  hands,  to  do  with  them  as  he  chose. 
Each  of  these  persons  was  now  invested  with 
a  new  importance.  He  passed  each  one  of 
them  before  his  mental  vision — his  mother, 
Margie,  Louis,  Alfred,  and  Mrs.  Alfred — as 
though  he  were  testing  their  several  dispositions 
and  capabilities. 

The  stillness  in  the  room  appeared  to  him 
terrifying;  and  opposite  to  him — living,  pal 
pable,  clothed  once  more  in  the  familiar  linea 
ments  of  life — he  seemed  to  see  his  father. 
There  were  the  heavy  eyes — how  full  of  plead 
ing! — and  the  mouth  opening  as  if  it  would 
speak,  in  remorse,  in  self -accusation ;  in  a 
desire  to  explain,  to  right  a  wrong,  to  undo 
what  had  been  done;  to  make  straight,  if 
such  were  possible,  the  rugged  path.  Sebas 
tian,  for  some  silent,  intense  moments,  stared 
at  the  vision  which  his  excited  fancy  had  con 
jured  up;  while  upon  his  own  young  life  fell 
a  silence,  sombre,  melancholy,  containing  all 
the  elements  of  a  tragedy.  For  to  such  silence 
Sebastian  bound  himself  in  that  interview  with 
the  dead,  during  which  he  had  entered  into 
and  seemed  to  understand,  as  he  never  could 
have  done  in  life,  the  mind  of  the  departed. 
He  pledged  himself  not  only  to  be  silent,  but 
to  sympathize,  even  to  pardon. 

He  rose  abruptly,  and,  as  if  to  ratify  that 
contract,  went  into  the  chamber  of  death.  The 
lights  were  burning,  symbol  of  the  soul  immortal, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  41 

of  that  survival  of  the  earthly  frame's  decay; 
the  smell  of  the  flowers,  on  the  other  hand, 
seeming  to  emphasize  the  idea  of  mortality, 
since  they  appeared  to  say,  "Perishable,  even 
as  are  we,  the  life  of  man  vanishes  in  a  day." 
The  Sisters,  still  keeping  their  watch,  were  as  the 
symbol  of  a  peace  deeper  than  that  of  the  dead, 
and  of  a  hope  that  pierced  the  darkness  into 
which,  under  these  accumulated  trials,  the  mind 
of  Sebastian  had  fallen.  He  knelt  down,  and 
solemnly  there,  beside  his  father's  lifeless  form, 
he  renewed  that  promise  which  he  had  already 
taken  of  deep  and  absolute  silence,  and  also 
of  ordering  everything,  in  so  far  as  circum 
stances  would  permit,  according  to  that  father's 
wishes.  Looking  into  the  face  of  his  late  parent, 
the  young  man  experienced  no  feelings  of  anger 
for  the  burden  that  had  been  laid  upon  him; 
his  heart  knew  only  pity  deep  and  profound. 
He  shut  himself  once  more  into  the  study, 
and,  with  a  new  courage  and  resolution,  began 
to  reflect  upon  that  matter  which  had  been 
burned  in  upon  him,  but  which,  as  if  by  the 
purification  of  fire,  had  left  him  stronger  and 
more  invigorated,  saying  by  his  whole  atti 
tude:  'This  also  has  to  be  met,  as  you  have 
met  so  many  things  in  the  years  that  have 
separated  you  from  boyhood."  That  paper 
upon  which  his  father  had  been  busy  when  he 
had  disturbed  him  on  that  fatal  night  was  no 
doubt  the  proximate  cause  of  his  death,  in 
the  heart-rending  self-revelation  which  it  had 


42  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

involved,  and  in  the  bitter  memories  and  the 
long  train  of  anxieties  and  apprehensions  which 
it  must  have  evoked.  Sebastian  understood 
many  things  as  he  perused  for  the  second  time 
those  pages. 

This  was  the  substance  of  the  narrative  which 
Sebastian  read  in  the  darkness  of  that  midnight, 
and  from  which  he  drew  his  own  conclusions. 
It  began  at  the  very  beginning,  so  to  say,  of 
his  father's  life. 

A  young  lad  thrown  upon  his  own  resources, 
and  before  he  had  begun  to  lay  the  foundation 
of  his  future  fortunes,  he  had  met  and  fallen 
in  love  with  a  young  girl  who  had  been  one 
of  his  fellow-workers  in  the  mill  wherein  he 
was  employed.  She  had  a  pretty  face  and  an 
easy,  jocular  manner  that  had  captivated  young 
Wilmot.  As  she  was  a  Methodist  and  abso 
lutely  refused  to  be  married  by  a  priest,  the 
infatuated  suitor  made  his  first  false  step  in 
consenting  to  be  married  by  a  minister.  The 
marriage,  however,  was  sufficiently  happy  for 
some  time  following  the  birth  of  a  daughter. 
But  the  girl  soon  proved  to  be  silly  and  vacuous, 
vain,  irritable,  and  exacting;  and  the  same 
wTant  of  stability  and  of  principle  that  had 
permitted  David  Wilmot  to  be  false  to  his 
religious  convictions  made  it  little  likely  that 
he  would  bear  with  her  defects.  Quarrels 
became  frequent,  until  at  last  one  dark  night 
the  young  woman  disappeared,  taking  the  child 
with  her. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  43 

The  husband  then,  and  for  months  after 
ward,  made  such  inquiries  as  he  could;  but 
at  that  time  he  had  neither  fortune  nor  influ 
ence  at  his  command,  and  his  efforts  were 
unsuccessful.  He  drifted  away  from  the  place, 
which  had  become  hateful  to  him,  leaving  the 
generally  accepted  notion  abroad  that  his  wife 
was  dead.  He  went  to  New  York,  where  he 
entered  as  a  clerk  in  a  business  house,  of  which 
he  subsequently  became  the  proprietor.  The 
loss  of  his  young  wife  affected  David  but  little. 
He  had  long  recovered  from  his  temporary 
infatuation;  and  as  he  began  to  mount  the 
commercial  and  social  ladder  his  relief  became 
more  marked.  He  realized  to  the  full  what  a 
handicap  she  would  have  been  to  his  vaulting 
ambition. 

At  length  he  began  to  persuade  himself  that 
she  was  dead  and  that  possibly  their  marriage 
was  invalid;  and  these  considerations  grew  and 
strengthened  with  the  years,  especially  when 
the  temptation  offered  to  marry  another  woman. 
Miss  Morris  was  handsome,  attractive,  clever; 
and,  being  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  manu 
facturer,  was  a  prize  worth  the  winning.  Since 
David  had  given  up  the  practice  of  his  religion— 
which,  indeed,  had  never  had  much  hold  on 
him,  having  been  left  an  orphan  in  child 
hood, — he  presently  allowed  himself  to  be  con 
vinced  that  it  was  perfectly  proper  for  him  to 
marry.  He  made  a  few  more  cautious  inquiries, 
and  discovered  that  the  minister  before  whom 


44  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

his  first  marriage  had  been  contracted  was 
dead.  That  was  another  link  broken  with  that 
past  which  he  so  ardently  wished  to  forget, 
and  there  was  absolutely  no  trace  to  be  found 
of  mother  or  child.  It  seemed  to  him  probable 
that  either  his  former  wife  had  died  or  had 
married  another  man,  and  would  have  no  desire 
to  revive  unpleasant  memories. 

He  hesitated  no  longer,  but  was  married  to 
Miss  Morris  in  St.  -  -'s  Catholic  church.  It 
must  be  owned  that  he  trembled  up  to  the 
last  moment;  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  some 
portentous  figure  must  arise  to  forbid  the 
banns.  But  not  the  slightest  incident  occurred 
to  mar  the  tranquillity  of  the  day.  The  cere 
mony  passed  off  happily;  though,  his  dead 
faith  awaking,  David  Wilmot  shook  as  with  an 
ague  at  the  aspect  of  the  priest  in  habiliments 
that  had  once  been  familiar;  and  some  realiza 
tion  of  the  crime  he  was  committing  dawned 
upon  his  mind  at  the  questions  and  the  solemn 
exhortations  of  the  minister  of  religion.  These 
feelings,  however,  gradually  wore  away;  and, 
though  now  of  comparatively  mature  age,  he 
felt  an  exultant  happiness  in  the  prize  he  had 
secured. 

He  passed  from  one  degree  of  prosperity  to 
another.  Fortune  seemed  to  smile  upon  him 
in  every  way.  But  over  it  all  was  the  dark 
cloud  of  constraint,  of  fear,  sometimes  of 
actual  terror.  The  Nemesis  threatened  at  every 
moment  to  appear,  shattering  the  fabric  that 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  45 

had  been  so  laboriously  constructed.  As  he 
grew  older,  this  condition  of  alarm,  of  vague 
dread,  and  the  whisperings  of  conscience  became 
more  insistent.  They  seemed  to  paralyze  all 
his  actions;  they  embittered  his  relations  with 
his  wife,  between  whom  and  himself  there  had 
arisen  a  slight  but  tangible  barrier  of  estrange 
ment.  He  feared  his  wife  no  less  than  his 
children.  The  keen  eyes  of  Sebastian,  the 
even  more  penetrating  and  less  gentle  ones  of 
Louis,  were  a  menace.  The  dulness  of  Alfred 
was  a  relief.  And  so  the  years  had  gone 
on. 

The  account  was  businesslike,  terse,  and  set 
down  in  but  few  words,  and  without  any 
attempt  at  expressing  (which,  indeed,  would 
have  been  impossible  to  the  writer) — the  long, 
silent  agony  of  remorse,  of  shame,  the  dread 
of  possible  detection.  Surely,  the  young  man 
thought,  the  dead  had  been  punished  for  his 
sin ;  and  the  mercy  of  God  might  have  accepted 
the  expiation,  if  only  the  priest  had  been  in 
time,  and  the  dying  sinner  had  had  some 
moments  of  full  consciousness.  Sebastian  re 
membered  with  relief — for  the  survivors  in 
such  cases  are  apt  to  grasp  at  straws — how 
feelingly  his  poor  father  had  spoken  on  the 
subject  of  religion  that  last  afternoon  of  his 
life.  His  thoughts,  at  least,  had  turned  in  that 
direction. 

Sebastian,  cheered  by  the  vague  comfort, 
took  the  final  sheet  of  that  strange  narrative, 


46  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

which  remained  unfinished,  the  hand-writing 
blurred  and  indistinct  toward  the  close.  The 
youngest  son  was  requested  by  his  father  to 
take  into  his  hands  the  whole  management  of 
that  delicate  affair.  He  did  not  enjoin  secrecy: 
he  left  that,  with  a  pathetic  shamefacedness, 
to  his  son's  own  sense  of  what  was  right  and 
fitting.  He  begged  him,  if  possible,  to  dis 
cover  whether  or  no  the  wife  so  long  abandoned 
was  still  living;  and  if  she  were  not,  to  try 
to  find  the  child,  who  had  been  called,  from 
the  pages  no  doubt  of  some  novel,  Elmira. 
He  further  decreed  that,  until  those  persons 
were  found  and  such  provision  made  for  them 
as  might  seem  fitting,  or  until  the  fact  of  their 
death  had  been  put  beyond  question,  the 
present  house  in  Gramercy  Park,  should  remain 
in  possession  of  the  estate,  and  on  no  account 
whatever  be  sold.  The  last  paragraph  that  had 
been  written  began: 

"And  now  I  have  to  tell  you  \vhat  may  afford 
you- 

But  there  the  pen  had  dropped  from  the 
hand  which,  perchance,  had  left  sufficient  of 
the  weakness  of  approaching  death  to  cause 
the  writer  to  seek  repose,  with  the  hope  of 
finishing  the  page  in  the  morning. 

"Oh,  if  he  had  only  called  me!  If  i  had 
only  known,  I  might  have  done  something  even 
then!" 

Alas!  Such  reflections  were  now  futile;  and 
the  young  man  pictured  the  scene  to  himself: 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  47 

the  poor,  blundering  father,  weighted  with  the 
burden  of  that  early  wrongdoing,  the  chief 
organ  of  life,  like  some  delicate  machine,  put 
out  of  gear  by  the  strain  that  had  been  brought 
to  bear  upon  it,  stumbled  to  his  bed  and  lay 
down,  believing  that  the  rest  would  restore 
him.  As  his  son  thought  pityingly,  he  had 
never  been  in  the  habit  of  complaining,  and 
so  without  complaining  he  had  died. 

It  was  grey  dawn  when  Sebastian,  hearing 
the  murmur  of  voices,  opened  the  door  slightly 
and  looked  into  the  adjoining  apartment.  It 
was,  as  he  had  thought,  his  mother  and  Margie 
who  had  come  down  and  were  praying  there; 
and,  in  his  excited  state,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  was  regarding  them  from  another  world 
into  which  he  had  suddenly  been  thrust.  He 
could  not  see  his  mother's  face,  since  her  back 
was  to  him,  and  her  head  was  bowed  as  in 
fervent  prayer  or  weeping.  But  he  saw  Margie 
very  plainly, — poor  little  Margie,  with  the 
small,  sensitive  face,  very  white  and  pitifully 
stained.  A  passionate  wish  surged  up  in  his 
heart  that  his  father  could  be  alive  once  more, 
and  that  everything  could  go  on  in  the  old 
commonplace  and  sometimes  monotonous  way. 
That  familiar  monotony  of  everyday  life,  when 
it  is  unbroken  by  any  trouble,  is  one  of  the 
things  for  which  few  people  are  sufficiently 
grateful. 

"  Eternal  rest, — eternal  rest ! "  —that  was  what 
they  were  wishing  to  the  deceased,  who  so 


48  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

long  had  borne  a  burden  that  must  at   times 
have  been  well-nigh  unendurable. 

"Oh,"  Sebastian  thought,  "if  only  the  priest 
had  arrived  in  time,  that  there  might  be  some 
certainty  of  proximate  rest ! ' ' 

He  closed  the  door  softly.  He  did  not  want 
Margie  or  his  mother  to  see  him.  He  desired 
to  keep  away  from  them  as  long  as  possible, 
till  this  strange  new  thing  should  have  become, 
in  its  turn,  commonplace.  He  thought  he  would 
go  downstairs  and  test  his  composure,  his 
power  of  appearing  undisturbed,  by  confront 
ing  Alfred,  the  least  formidable,  where  percep 
tion  was  concerned,  of  all  the  family.  He  felt 
glad  just  then  to  reflect  that  Alfred  was  dull, 
and  had  never  discovered  anything  in  his  life- 
by  his  own  initiative.  He  had  a  curious  feeling 
that,  after  he  had  once  spoken  to  some  human 
being,  he  would  never  be  so  much  afraid  of 
meeting  people's  glances  and  answering  their 
inquiry. 

He  knew  that  it  was  light.  "The  night 
breaketh  and  the  morning  cometh,"  he  repeated 
over  mechanically  to  himself,  but  he  did  not 
approach  the  window.  Seeing  that  all  was  in 
order,  and  pondering  over  in  his  mind  what 
it  was  that  his  father  had  left  unfinished  in 
that  document,  and  how  he  would  have  fin 
ished  it  if  he  had  had  time,  he  opened  the 
door  into  the  hall,  and,  in  the  dim  light  that 
penetrated  there,  came  face  to  face  with  Mrs. 
Alfred.  She  was  the  last  person  on  earth  he 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  49 

would  have  desired  to  see  just  then.  He  had 
not  thought  of  her, — hoping,  in  fact,  that  she 
was  safe  at  home.  But  he  set  his  mouth  grimly. 
Since  she  was  there,  she  had  to  be  faced  and 
to  be  defied.  Those  light,  smiling  eyes  of  hers, 
which  at  that  moment  he  detested,  should 
never,  he  told  himself,  pierce  the  grey  veil  of 
silence  in  which  he  had  wrapped  himself.  He 
stood  still,  involuntarily  putting  his  back  to 
the  door,  though  everything  within  the  room 
was  under  lock  and  key, — yes,  locked  up  in 
that  safe,  of  which  he  alone  now  had  the  secret. 

"Why,  you  poor  boy!"  Mrs.  Alfred  said, 
coming  very  close  and  putting  her  slim  hand 
on  his  arm,  so  that  he  felt  as  if  she  could  almost 
feel  the  tense  effort  he  was  making  to  appear 
natural.  "I  hurried  back  here  as  soon  as  it 
was  light.  I  have  sent  Alfred  off  to  bed." 

Sebastian  had  a  curious  inclination  to  laugh 
out  loud.  Alfred,  whom  he  had  been  most 
desirous  of  seeing,  had  been  sent  off  to  bed, 
and  here  was  this  lynx-eyed  woman  prepared 
to  keep  watch  and  ward  over  him  and  his 
movements ! 

"I  was  looking  for  you  everywhere,"  she 
went  on.  ''James,  your  man,  wants  instruc 
tions  about  something  of  which  I  know  nothing. " 

"Oh,  is  there  anything  of  which  you  know 
nothing?"  said  Sebastian,  with  a  touch  of 
hilarity,  that  Mrs.  Alfred,  in  her  own  mind, 
promptly  condemned  as  heartless,  but  which 
was  merely  ghastly.  Her  impulse  was  to  turn 


50  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

away.  Also  she  had  a  dark  suspicion  that 
Sebastian,  who  was  never  known  to  touch  al 
cohol  of  any  kind,  had  been  drinking.  His 
manner,  she  thought,  was  so  peculiar,  his  eyes 
so  unnatural,  and  his  misplaced  laughter  so 
forced. 

' '  My  dear  Sebastian, ' '  she  cried,  ' '  what  is 
the  matter?  What  can  you  possibly  have  been 
doing." 

"I  have  been  doing  nothing,"  he  said,  in 
quick  self-defence,—  " absolutely  nothing:  sit 
ting  still,  and— 

"It  would  have  been  much  wiser  to  go  to 
bed,"  the  woman  said,  returning  to  her  soft, 
caressing  manner,  as  she  saw  that  her  first 
suspicion  was  unfounded.  "You  are  wearing 
yourself  out,  and  you  look  as  if  you  had  seen 
a  ghost." 

"I  never  did!"  cried  Sebastian,  in  the  same 
hasty  self-defence  which  appeared  in  him  so 
unnatural,  but  which,  in  his  abnormal  state  of 
mind,  seemed  the  only  thing  to  do.  And, 
leaving  her  abruptly,  he  fled  to  his  own  room. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  51 


V. 

SEBASTIAN  ever  afterward  remembered  the  first 
confidential  meeting  with  his  mother  under 
these  new  conditions,  with  this  new  knowledge 
that  had  risen  up  as  a  barrier  between  him 
and  her.  She  was  sitting  in  the  living  room, 
in  her  deep  mourning  garb,  with  her  brilliant 
coloring  subdued,  her  manner  still  and  solemn, 
and  utterly  unlike  her  ordinary  mien  of  buoyant 
cheerfulness  and  contentment  with  life.  Beside 
her  sat  Mrs.  Alfred,  stroking  her  hand.  Margie 
and  the  two  brothers  were  also  in  the  room. 
Sebastian,  somehow,  now  saw  them  as  the 
children  with  whom  he  had  played  long  ago, 
and  to  whom  their  father,  always  with  his 
nervous,  constrained  efforts  at  kindliness,  had 
given  silver  coins  or  toys  or  confectionery. 

"Sebastian,"  said  his  mother,  and  her  voice 
was  low  and  unusual  in  its  sound,  "Caroline 
has  just  been  saying  that  you  are  quite  a 
stranger  to  us  these  last  days." 

"Yes,"  replied  Sebastian,  "I  have  felt  that 
myself.  There  were  so  many  things  to  do." 

He  looked,  with  a  curious  impulse  of  defi 
ance,  at  his  brother's  wife  rather  than  at  his 
mother,  as  if  challenging  her  to  prove  that 


52  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

there  had  been  anything  unwarranted  by  cir 
cumstances  in  his  action. 

"It  has  been  very  dreadful  for  us  all,"  said 
the  mother;  "but  of  course  upon  me  the  blow 
fell  hardest.  After  so  many  years  of  companion 
ship- 
She  stopped,  turning  her  face  away  to  the 
window;  while  Margie,  who  herself  was  making 
a  brave  effort  to  control  her  tears,  drew  near 
and  stole  her  arm  around  her  mother's  neck. 
Mrs.  Alfred,  more  assiduously  than  ever, 
stroked  her  hand  and  murmured  unintelligible 
ejaculations. 

"Now,  this  will  never  do,"  said  Louis,  speak 
ing  from  a  corner  of  the  room  where  he  had 
been  studying  the  daily  paper.  'The  sooner 
the  house  gets  back  to  its  usual  order,  and 
every  one  of  us  to  his  and  her  usual  pursuits, 
the  better.  Were  father  here,  he  would  be  the 
first  to  advocate  that  course  of  action." 

He  glanced  at  Sebastian;  but,  as  the  latter 
did  not  speak,  his  tone  became  more  authori 
tative. 

"Mother,  I  for  one — from  a  medical  point 
of  view,  if  from  no  other, — am  not  going  to 
allow  you  to  sit  moping  in  a  darkened  room 
as  you  have  been  doing.  You  are  injuring  your 
health  for  no  reason  whatsoever." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  the 
mother  said  helplessly,  and  she  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  of  her  sons, — Louis  imposing 
by  his  firm  and  solid  build,  Alfred  stout  and 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  53 

flabby.  Her  eyes  wandered  from  them  to  the 
slim,  boyish  figure  and  the  face,  now  grave 
and  impassive,  of  her  youngest  son.  Her  gaze 
resting  longest  upon  him,  it  seemed  as  if  to 
him  the  question  was  addressed.  Sebastian 
made  haste  to  answer: 

"To  do  as  Louis  suggests." 

"But  he  has  suggested  nothing,"  the  mother 
said,  half  irritably. 

"To  be  specific,  then,"  continued  Louis,  "I 
think  you  should  go  for  a  drive  this  very 
afternoon." 

"Go  for  a  drive,"  she  said,  with  something 
of  horror  in  her  tone,  "scarcely  two  weeks 
after — " 

"What  does  the  number  of  days  matter?" 
cried  Louis.  "Now,  mother,  do  be  sensible! 
Sebastian  will  order  the  carriage  for  four 
o'clock." 

"Have  it  your  own  way,"  answered  the 
widow.  "I  suppose  those  things  matter  very 
little." 

"Margie  will  go  with  you,"  said  Louis, 
wondering  what  had  come  to  Sebastian  that 
he  stood  there  so  apathetically,  leaning  against 
the  mantelpiece  and  regarding  his  mother. 

"No,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilmot,  "Margie  can 
not  go.  Her  dressmaker  is  coming  this  after 
noon.  Caroline  must  come  with  me." 

"Yes,  certainly  Mrs.  Alfred  will  go,"  said 
Louis.  It  was  a  trifling  but  noteworthy  fact 
in  the  family  that  the  young  men  never  called 


54  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

their  brother's  wife  by  her  Christian  name, 
though  of  course  their  mother  did  so. 

"I  shall  be  so  glad  to  go  with  you,  dear!" 
said  Mrs.  Alfred. 

"Thanks,  Caroline!"  responded  the  widow. 
"You  are  always  ready  when  you  are  wanted." 

"And  sometimes  when  she  is  not,"  muttered 
Louis  under  his  breath,  so  low  that  only  Se 
bastian  heard  him. 

It  was,  therefore,  arranged  that  Mrs.  Wilmot 
should  drive.  Mrs.  Alfred  presently  went  up 
stairs  to  put  on  her  things,  offering  to  bring 
down  the  widow's  bonnet  and  wrap,  that  she 
might  not  have  to  mount  the  stairs;  and  both 
Louis  and  Alfred  took  their  leave,  walking 
down  the  street  together  in  a  silence  rarely 
broken.  Margie  went  away,  by  her  mother's 
direction,  to  answer  some  of  the  letters  of 
condolence;  and  Sebastian  and  his  mother 
were  left  alone. 

"So,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  mother,  looking 
up  at  him  half  fondly,  half  resentfully,  "every 
thing  has  been  left  in  your  hands." 

"O  mother,"  exclaimed  Sebastian,  with  a 
sudden,  involuntary  cry  of  anguish,  "I  wish  to 
God  it  were  not  so!" 

His  mother  looked  surprised. 

"But,"  she  said,  "I  thought — at  least  Caro 
line  was  lately  remarking — and,  by  the  way, 
what  a  bright,  intelligent,  sympathetic  creature 
she  is — invaluable  at  a  time  like  this!" 

"What  was  she  remarking?"  Sebastian  asked, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  55 

in  a  voice  that  sounded  once  more  cold  and 

lifeless. 

"Why,  that  she  thought  it  pleased  you  best 
to  have  the  chief  management  of  the  concern 
in  your  hands." 

"To  speak  frankly,  mother,"  said  Sebastian, 
"in  that  respect  Mrs.  Alfred  is  quite  right. 
The  business  in  its  essential  features  can  best 
be  managed  by  me." 

The  mother's  eyes  flashed.  They  were  dark 
eyes  and  like  his  own.  A  curious  antagonism 
toward  her  youngest  son  for  the  first  time 
appeared  in  their  depths, — a  feeling  which 
then,  and  afterward,  was  carefully  fostered  by 
Mrs.  Alfred. 

"Like  many  young  men,"  she  remarked 
quietly,  "you  have  a  good  opinion  of  your  own 
powers." 

"As   regards   my   business    capacities,    yes." 

;'Your  father  appears  to  have  agreed  with 
you,"  said  the  mother,  again  with  slight  bitter 
ness;  "but  at  least  I  am  glad  to  see  that  he 
has  placed  Alfred,  and  if  necessary  Louis,  in 
the  position  of  advisers.  In  my  humble  estima 
tion,  no  one  could  be  better  in  such  a  capacity 
than  Alfred,  with  his  solid,  deliberate  judgment 
and  legal  abilities." 

Sebastian  did  not  argue  the  point;  and  the 
mother,  raising  her  head,  which,  by  a  move 
ment  of  dejection,  she  had  let  fall  upon  her 
hand,  asked: 

"What  did  you  mean  by  saying  a  moment 


56  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

ago  that  you  wished  to  Gcd  some  other  arrange 
ment  had  been  made  ? ' ' 

Sebastian's  face  was  partly  turned  away  as 
he  answered: 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  the  business.  I  had 
other  things  in  mind." 

"What  other  things?"  demanded  the  mother. 

Sebastian  bit  his  lip.    He  had  been  indiscreet. 

"Why,  the  general  management  of  the  estate," 
he  said  with  some  embarrassment,  "in  which 
may  arise,  from  time  to  time,  occasions  when 
my  opinion  must  run  counter  to  that  of  others, 
perhaps  even  to  yours." 

"I  hope  not,"  rejoined  the  mother,  with 
emphasis, — "I  sincerely  hope  not." 

"Not  half  so  sincerely  as  I  do,"  said  Sebas 
tian;  for  he  already  had  in  view  contingencies 
that  might  arise. 

"I    trust    you    perfectly    understand,"    the 
mother   said   haughtily,    "that   my   husband— 
my  husband,  you  understand— 

Sebastian  felt  a  tremor  go  through  him.  Why 
did  she  insist  upon  that  point?  Then  he  saw 
that  it  was  only  by  way  of  emphasizing  her 
rights,  which  some  latent  irritation  in  her  own 
mind,  or  some  suggestion  of  Mrs.  Alfred,  had 
caused  her  to  fancy  were  being  threatened. 
Never  before  had  the  young  man  heard  such 
a  tone  from  his  mother,  who  had  always  been 
kindly,  genial  and  sympathetic.  It  impressed 
him  painfully. 

"My   dearest   mother,"  he  said,   "one  thing 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  57 

you  must  know  is  certain:  your  wishes  shall 
always  be  my  wishes,  where  that  is  possible." 

Mrs.  Wilmot  relented,  without  noticing  the 
qualifying  clause. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  Sebastian,"  she 
rejoined,  "if  I  have  said  anything  disagreeable. 
But  I  am  all  upset.  The  shock  was  too  much 
for  me,  especially"  (she  lowered  her  voice  and 
shuddered)  "as  your  poor  father  was  taken 
away  so  suddenly,  without  having  had  the 
priest." 

Sebastian  had  not  been  sure  until  that 
moment  that  she  had  taken  to  heart  that 
particular  phase  of  the  late  bereavement;  for 
he  could  never  remember  her  as  a  religious 
woman,  or  one  who  had  taken  the  affairs  of 
the  spirit  very  seriously.  The  admission  had 
been  forced  from  him  often,  though  most 
reluctantly,  and  only  in  the  depths  of  his  own 
mind.  Margie  alone,  of  all  that  household, 
had  been  devout, — had  carried  about  with  her 
an  unobtrusive  but  unmistakable  leaven  of 
genuine  piety. 

"And,  Sebastian,"  the  mother  said,  rising 
from  her  chair  and  going  over  close  to  her 
son,  "it  frets  me  to  think  how  irreligious  the 
poor  dear  man  was,  just  from  the  stress  of 
business,  and  how  little  I  ever  did  to  make  him 
less  indifferent." 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  say  that,  mother!"  cried 
Sebastian.  'Try  not  to  think  of  these  things." 

"But  you  know  it  is  true,  and  I  can't  help 


58  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

thinking  about  it;  and  I  am  afraid  I  shall 
always  go  on  thinking  about  it.  For  if  your 
father  died  unprepared,  it  was  partly  my 
fault." 

The  anguish  which  she  put  into  that  tragic 
whisper  pierced  Sebastian's  heart. 

:< You  are  morbid,  mother,"  he  replied.  "You 
know  very  well  that  you  always  went  to  church 
and  to  confession,  and— 

"If  I  had  been  like  Margie,"  the  mother 
cried,  "he  and  all  of  you  would  have  been 
different!" 

It  was  a  statement  hard  to  controvert; 
though  Sebastian,  with  his  additional  knowl 
edge,  was  quite  aware  that  it  was  only  half 
a  truth.  It  would  have  been  very  difficult, 
indeed,  for  David  Wilmot  to  practise  his 
religion  without  a  radical  readjustment  of  his 
affairs.  The  young  man,  however,  made  one 
more  gallant  effort. 

"You  mustn't  exaggerate,  mother,"  he  said. 
"It  was  simply  that  my  poor  father,  like  so 
many  other  business  men,  had  grown  careless. 
But  I  know  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  on 
the  very  last  afternoon  of  his  life,  as  we  drove 
up  town  together,  he  spoke  to  me  very  strongly 
of  the  necessity  of  having  practical  religion 
and  keeping  one's  conscience  in  order." 

The  mother  looked  at  him  sharply. 

' '  I  am  surprised  that  you  never  told  me 
that  before,"  she  said.  "This  habit  of  con- 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  59 

cealment  will  grow  upon  you  till  dear  knows 
where  it  will  end." 

"You  forget,"  observed  Sebastian,  very 
gently,  "that,  as  you  remarked  a  few  moments 
ago,  I  have  scarcely  seen  you,  at  least  in  such 
a  way  as  to  give  me  an  opportunity  of  telling 
you." 

"Well,"  the  mother  said,  "I  am  glad  to  hear 
it  now.  It  gives  me  a  little  hope." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  handkerchief  as 
she  spoke,  and  sobbed  aloud — at  which  juncture 
Mrs.  Alfred  glided  into  the  room,  carrying  the 
widow's  bonnet  and  veil,  together  with  a  heavy 
wrap.  She  laid  these  down  upon  a  chair,  and, 
approaching  Mrs.  Wilmot  with  an  air  of  great 
concern,  said  aside  to  Sebastian: 

"Now,  you  imprudent  boy,  you  have  been 
agitating  her  in  some  way!" 

Sebastian  looked  at  her  in  grim  silence,  while 
Mrs.  Wilmot  faintly  murmured: 

"No,  he  is  not  to  blame.  He  has  done  the 
best  he  could,  and  has  given  me  some  real 
comfort." 

"Well,  well,  dear,  we  shall  go  for  a  drive 
now!"  said  Mrs.  Alfred,  adjusting  the  widow's 
bonnet,  and  carefully  buttoning  the  wrap  about 
her. 

Sebastian,  offering  his  arm  to  his  mother, 
led  her  down  the  steps  and  placed  both  ladies 
in  the  carriage.  When  he  returned  to  the 
room,  Margie  had  come  in,  and  brother  and 
sister  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  They  sat  down 


6o  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

for  a  confidential  talk,  during  which  Margie, 
too,  touched  upon  the  subject  that  had  so 
deeply  agitated  his  mother;  only,  of  course, 
she  contented  herself  with  deploring  that  the 
priest  had  not  arrived  in  time. 

"It  simply  breaks  my  heart  to  think  of  it," 
Margie  said.  "Father  was  so  kind  and  good!" 

"And  idolized  his  little  Margie,"  added  the 
tall  brother,  sadly.  He  would  have  diverted 
her  thoughts,  if  he  could,  from  that  one  melan 
choly  fact,  which  he  knew  would  permanently 
affect  this  gentle  soul,  whose  strength  looked 
out  from  her  frail  body  in  the  most  mobile 
and  expressive  of  faces. 

As  the  twro  sat  together,  a  visitor  was  an 
nounced, — such  a  visitor  as  could  with  propriety, 
even  with  joy,  be  received  into  a  house  of 
mourning.  It  was  a  priest  whom  they  knew, 
only  by  reputation,  as  a  holy  religious,  whose 
life  was  chiefly  given  up  to  prisoners  and  the 
very  outcasts  of  society.  When  he  entered  the 
room,  the  brother  and  sister  rose.  Margie's 
whole  soul  was  in  her  eyes  as  she  gazed  at 
that  venerable  figure;  while  Sebastian  felt  that 
here,  in  the  genuine  humility  and  saintliness 
that  shone  forth  so  radiantly,  was  a  wonder 
ful  force  that  must  dominate  by  its  very 
renunciation. 

He  sat  down  near  the  two  young  people  with 
a  naturalness  and  simplicity  that  put  them  both 
at  their  ease,  and  began  at  once  to  talk  of  their 
late  loss.  His  talk  was  wonderful  to  them 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  61 

both;  for,  though  they  had  been  educated 
under  Catholic  auspices,  and  Margie  had  re 
tained  the  fervor  of  her  First  Communion, 
there  had  been  little  opportunity  for  religious 
conversation  of  any  kind.  The  priest  trans 
ported  them  over  the  borderland  of  a  country 
which  seemed  familiar  and  beloved,  giving 
them  glimpses  of  a  great  mercy  and  a  great 
hope. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  to  tell 
you  something.  I  am  sorry  that  your  mother 
is  not  here.  But  you  will  give  her  the  message." 

It  added  to  rather  than  detracted  from  the 
unction  of  his  words  that  he  spoke  with  a 
slight  trace  of  a  foreign  accent,  which  had 
clung  to  him  through  all  the  years  of  his 
ministry  in  overcrowded  New  York. 

"Now  listen  to  my  words,"  the  priest  con 
tinued,  the  sweetness  of  his  smile  lighting  up 
his  aged  face  like  sunlight  on  some  hoary  tr^e. 
"Just  a  week  before  that  lamented  death,  a 
gentleman  called  to  see  me.  I  had  not  met  him 
previously,  though  I  very  well  knew  his  name, 
which  he  mentioned  to  me;  so  that  you  see 
there  can  be  no  mistake.  Well,  my  dear  young 
people,  he  had  come  to  talk  to  me  of  some  of 
his  affairs,  and  to  make  a  general  confession. 
That  gentleman  was  the  late  David  Wilmot." 

Margie  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  sparkling, 
her  whole  face  transformed  with  a  sudden, 
overwhelming  joy;  while  to  Sebastian  it  seemed 
as  if  some  one  had  rolled  a  great  stone  from 


62  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

the  door  of  his  heart.    It  was  for  them  both  a 
moral  resurrection. 

''That  confession,"  the  priest  went  on,  "was 
made  humbly,  simply,  with  great  sorrow  and 
great  faith.  It  was  such  a  confession  as  grace 
alone  could  enable  a  man  to  make.  And  on 
the  very  morning  of  his  death  did  you  notice 
any  departure  from  his  ordinary  habits?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Sebastian.  "He  went  out 
early,  and,  as  my  servant  informed  me,  was 
gone  for  some  time.  I  remember  he  reproached 
me  for  being  late  and  keeping  him  waiting  that 
morning;  though  it  was  he  who  was  earlier 
than  usual." 

"And  he  did  not  tell  you  where  he  was 
going  ? ' '  the  priest  inquired. 

"No,  Father,"  said  Sebastian;  "and  I  asked 
no  questions.  He  was  habitually  reticent.  I 
presumed  that  he  had  gone  for  a  walk,  such 
as  he  sometimes  took  before  breakfast,  and 
had  extended  it  that  morning." 

"He  came  to  me,"  said  the  priest.  "Our 
college,  where  I  am  at  present,  is  not  far  from 
here,  and  I  gave  him  Holy  Communion  in  our 
chapel.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  with  what 
fervor  he  received,  the  tears  rolling  down  his 
cheeks." 

"Oh,"  cried  Margie,  "I  shall  never  feel  sorry 
for  my  dear  father  any  more!  You  have  made 
me  so  happy!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  priest.  "That  is  why  I 
have  come  here — to  make  you  happy,  to 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  63 

lighten  the  load  of  grief.  I  am  sorry  I  could 
not  have  come  sooner.  I  have  been  absent 
from  the  city." 

The  priest,  seeing  that  Margie  was  almost 
restored  to  gayety  and  brightness,  turned  from 
her  to  her  brother,  whose  face  he  examined 
attentively.  Laying  a  hand  upon  the  young 
man's  shoulder  affectionately,  as  he  himself 
rose  to  go,  he  said: 

"And  you?  I  understand  that  upon  you  has 
been  laid  a  great  burden.  Will  you  not  borrow 
wings  from  the  sky  to  enable  you  to  bear  it 
upward?  Otherwise,  there  is  danger  that  it 
may  crush  you,  my  poor  fellow!" 

Sebastian  winced  at  the  words,  and  drew  a 
deep  breath  as  he  looked  into  that  smiling, 
holy  countenance,  whence  the  world  and  all 
its  disturbing  influences  had  long  been  ban 
ished.  It  had  often  seemed  to  him,  since  that 
night  when  he  had  been  confronted  with  that 
grim  spectre,  that  the  burden  was  too  great 
for  him  to  bear  alone.  His  heart  went  out 
toward  this  strength  and  this  calmness,  this 
gentleness  and  sweetness,  in  which  there  might 
well  be  help.  He  wondered  if  the  priest  knew. 
In  fact,  it  was  almost  certain  that  he  did; 
and  the  thought  forced  itself  into  his  mind: 

"How  wonderful  are  these  priests  of  ours, 
who  go  about  with  the  burden  of  all  the  cares 
and  crime  and  miseries  of  men,  knowing  all, 
revealing  nothing!  Even  from  a  human  point 
of  view,  there  are  no  others  like  them;  for  some- 


64  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

times,  under  the  most  commonplace  appear 
ance,  they  conceal  that  wonderful  force,  that 
virtue,  which  goes  forth  into  the  universe,  and, 
wherever  its  influence  extends,  holds  the  chaotic 
elements  in  order." 

Sebastian  went  to  the  door  with  the  priest, 
consumed  by  a  desire  to  have  his  help  and 
counsel,  but  held  back  by  a  supreme  fear. 
What  if  the  priest  should  deem  it  necessary 
for  him  to  break  that  silence  which  he  had 
vowed,  which  he  must  keep  if  necessary  till 
his  death! 

At  the  door,  the  priest  shook  him  warmly 
by  the  hand,  looking  once  more  earnestly  into 
his  face. 

"If  you  should  want  me,"  he  said,  "I  shall 
always  be  ready." 

"Sometime  I  may  want  you,"  Sebastian 
replied;  and  the  priest  added: 

"Pray,  my  dear  boy;  and  I  shall  pray,  too. 
Prayer  is  the  all-powerful." 

He  passed  out  into  the  street,  humbly  and 
simply.  And  Sebastian,  looking  after  him, 
thought : 

"Every  word  is  direct  and  true, — no  cant, 
no  ostentation,  no  desire  for  anything  but  to 
accomplish  in  the  best  manner  possible  the 
work  to  which  he  has  been  appointed." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  65 


VI. 

As  the  months  following  David  Wilmot's  un 
timely  death  lapsed  into  years,  smoothly  indeed 
ran  the  wheels  of  that  vast  machinery  of  the 
business,  scarcely  impeded  for  a  moment  by 
the  clogging  that  might,  under  ordinary  cir 
cumstances,  have  occurred  when  the  senior 
partner  died.  It  then  became  more  and  more 
apparent  how  little  the  personality  of  the  com 
paratively  slow-witted  and  heavily-built  man 
had  had  to  do  with  the  prosperity  of  the 
concern.  He  had,  it  is  true,  placed  it  upon  a 
solid  basis  in  the  years  that  were  gone,  accord 
ing  to  such  methods  as  he  understood,  or  as 
were  then  in  vogue ;  and,  by  his  steady,  plodding 
work,  might  have  retained  it  upon  that  level 
of  respectable  mediocrity.  But  in  the  greater 
operations,  in  the  expansion  of  later  years,  it 
was  melancholy  to  see  how  he  had  become,  to 
those  who  understood  the  situation,  merely 
the  shadow  of  a  name.  In  Sebastian  was 
centred  the  whole  business.  Men  who,  forming 
their  judgments  simply  upon  the  basis  of  age 
and  experience,  had  hitherto  preferred  to  deal 
with  the  father,  now  found  how  much  more 
simple,  direct,  and  efficacious  it  was  to  come 


66  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

directly  to  that  slim  and  dark-complexioned 
young  man,  who,  but  for  the  gravity  of  his 
look,  might  have  been  a  good  five  years  younger. 
The  custom  of  Wilmot  &  Co.  showed  a  constant 
tendency  to  increase,  and  the  firm's  operations 
grew  and  extended. 

It  was  about  a  year  after  the  father's  death 
that  a  stringency  in  the  money  market,  amount 
ing  almost  to  a  universal  panic,  caused  one 
commercial  house  after  another  to  go  down 
like  trees  before  a  storm.  It  was  then  that 
the  positive  genius  of  Sebastian  shone  forth. 
He  remained  at  the  helm  sometimes  te,n  hours 
out  of  the  day,  guiding  that  barque  over  rocks 
and  shoals  and  the  furious  breakers  of  financial 
disaster.  He  looked  paler  and  thinner  when 
it  was  over, — that  was  all.  He  scarcely  said  a 
word  at  home  of  the  peril  that  had  menaced 
Wilmot  &  Co.,  except  to  explain  that  his 
longer  hours  were  necessitated  by  unusual 
stress  of  business.  And  he  was  perfectly  well 
aware  that,  had  the  firm  gone  under,  it  would 
have  been  ascribed  to  his  own  inefficiency  and 
his  obstinacy  in  striving  to  keep  everything  in 
his  own  hands. 

Margie,  of  course,  was  always  sympathetic 
with  what  concerned  her  brother;  and  Louis 
came  down  to  the  office  one  afternoon  on 
purpose  to  prescribe  a  powerful  tonic. 

"As  soon  as  the  stress  is  over,"  he  further 
observed,  "you  had  better  go  away  somewhere 
for  a  rest." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  67 

Sebastian  looked  at  him,  and  realized  that 
this  brother,  who  had  hitherto  said  nothing, 
was  fully  alive  to  the  situation  in  the  commercial 
world,  which  he  had  supposed  was  disregarded 
by  the  family,  and  which  he  had  purposely 
kept  secret  from  Alfred  for  fear  of  increasing 
his  meddlesome  interference.  He  only  said, 
therefore,  assuming  that  Louis  knew. 

"Things  have  been  strenuous.  But  I'll  be 
all  right.  I  don't  easily  knock  under." 

"No  one  easily  knocks  under,"  replied  Louis, 
"apart  from  chronic  invalids.  But  it's  a  big 
mistake  to  put  too  great  a  stress  upon  the 
machine." 

Sebastian  had  felt  very  grateful  to  this 
brother,  who  had  never  asked  a  question,  nor 
endeavored  in  any  way  to  interfere  with  the 
management  of  the  concern,  nor  expressed  the 
slightest  fear  for  its  safety, — though  there 
might  have  been  times  when  he  was  disposed 
to  accept  the  verdict  of  the  family  as  expressed 
by  his  mother  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alfred,  and  to 
suppose  that  Louis  was  absorbed  in  his  own 
profession  and  indifferent  to  all  else.  But  in 
the  course  of  that  short  interview  his  grati 
tude  was  increased,  and  his  respect  for  the 
other  heightened.  It  was  evident  that  Louis 
had  really  kept  a  vigilant  eye  upon  what  was 
going  on,  as  far  as  might  be  done  from  the  out 
side  ;  and  was  convinced  that  the  best  interests 
of  all  concerned  lay  in  non-interference.  Sebas 
tian  felt  moved  to  make  him  a  confidant. 


68  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

L-* 

"The  last  two  months,"  he  said,  "have  been 
the  stiffest  time  I  ever  remember.  Money  is 
scarce,  credit  shaken,  and  failures  occurring 
every  day,  especially  in  our  line  of  business." 

Louis  nodded. 

"You  needn't  tell  me,  my  dear  fellow,"  he 
answered.  "I  have  been  watching  the  thing 
straight  along.  But  I  have  had  no  anxiety. 
You  are  of  the  sort  that  comes  out  all  right. 
Just  enough  daring,  without  being  reckless." 

"Louis,"  said  Sebastian,  "father  was  quite 
right  in  one  particular:  you  would  have  been 
of  the  greatest  help  here." 

"Thanks!"  said  Louis,  with  a  slight,  con 
strained  laugh.  "But  you  know  as  well  as  I 
do  that  there  is  not  room  here  for  two.  You 
have  the  machine  in  your  hands.  Any  other 
coming  in  at  this  late  day  would  only  hinder 
you." 

There  was  a  silence. 

"As  for  hindrances,"  Louis  resumed,  "you 
have  found  enough, — haven't  you?" 

'Yes,"  said  Sebastian,  "I  must  admit  that 
I  have." 

"Alfred,"  went  on  Louis,  "has  a  sixth  sense 
for  muddling  everything  that  he  touches.  And 
he  has  his  wife  behind  him,  who  is  just  clever 
enough  to  be  dangerous.  But  stand  firm; 
keep  your  own  counsel;  and  if  he  goes  too  far, 
kick  him  out — metaphorically,  of  course.  / 
should  certainly  do  so  literally,  if  he  came 
meddling  with  my  pill  boxes  and  potions." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  69 

"There  is  a  difficulty,"  said  Sebastian,  lean 
ing  back  in  his  chair.  "Being  the  oldest  of  us, 
and  mentioned  in  the  will  as  adviser,  he  wants 
to  justify  the  title." 

"Adviser  be  hanged! "  exclaimed  Louis.  "And 
if  you  don't  take  care,  that's  the  rock  you'll 
split  upon,  after  having  weathered  all  these 
gales.  So  look  out  for  Alfred— I  mean  his 
wife!  In  her  smooth,  soft  way,  she  is  forever 
plotting.  And,"  he  added  irritably,  "she  can't 
keep  still.  She  reminds  me  of  what  some  book 
man  said  about  St.  Vitus  being  the  patron  of 
us  Americans." 

The  young  men,  by  mutual  consent,  avoided 
the  more  delicate  topic  of  the  interference  of 
their  mother.  She  was  so  lovable  and  so  human 
in  her  very  weaknesses,  that  her  sons  were 
devoted  to  her;  but  they  did  not,  in  this 
instance,  trust  her  judgment.  Though  in  some 
directions  she  had  the  same  quick  intuitions 
as  her  youngest  son,  she  failed  to  realize  the 
limitations  of  her  oldest;  neither  had  she  dis 
covered  that  for  some  time  past  Wilmot  & 
Co.  had  been  Sebastian.  The  curious  feature 
of  it  was  that,  while  in  his  lifetime  she  had 
never  overrated  her  late  husband,  she  could 
not  rid  herself  of  the  feeling,  now  that  he  was 
dead,  that  everything  must  go  to  rack  and 
ruin  without  him.  The  very  fact,  too,  that 
Sebastian  was  the  youngest  of  her  sons  seemed 
to  give  her  a  distrust  of  his  capacity.  As  if 
primogeniture  must  bring  wisdom  and  capacity 


7o  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

for  affairs!  Perhaps  it  is  hard  for  a  mother 
to  comprehend  that  the  son  who  was  so  lately 
a  baby  helpless  in  her  arms  can  be  a  great 
mercantile  or  professional  force.  In  any  case, 
she  was  persistently  haunted  by  the  idea,  in 
which  she  was  supported  by  Mrs.  Alfred,  that 
Alfred  should  give  up  the  law  and  go  into 
commerce,  and  that  meantime  Sebastian  was 
in  need  of  his  advice. 

Ever  since  the  opening  and  reading  of  the 
will  this  had  been  the  struggle.  Sebastian  had, 
indeed,  been  named  sole  executor,  with  his 
brothers,  and  especially  Alfred  (because  of  his 
legal  character),  as  advisers.  Therein,  so  far 
as  Alfred  was  concerned,  lay  all  the  difficulty. 
The  will  was  excellently  made  with  a  view  to 
giving  a  just  apportionment  to  each,  without 
impairing  the  colossal  fabric  of  the  firm.  But 
as  no  provision  was  directly  made  there — except 
in  the  creation  of  a  trust  fund  the  purpose  of 
which  was  not  explained,  but  which  Sebastian 
was  to  administer  in  connection  with  that 
other  burden  which  had  been  laid  upon  the 
shoulders  of  the  younger  brother, — interminable 
complications  seemed  likely  to  result.  In  addi 
tion  to  his  weight  of  care  and  responsibility, 
he  was  haunted  by  that  grim  spectre  of  the 
past. 

With  this  double  burden  upon  him,  Sebas 
tian  had  had  to  endure,  with  what  patience 
he  might,  the  almost  daily  visit  of  Alfred  to 
the  office,  with  inane  inquiries  of  his  own,  or 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  71 

more  pointed  ones  of  his  wife,  which  all  too 
frequently  interrupted  or  interfered  with  some 
difficult  or  delicate  negotiation.  Besides,  it 
had  come  to  his  knowledge  that  whispers,  on 
the  part  of  Mrs.  Alfred,  were  going  the  rounds 
of  their  friends  and  acquaintances,  with  some 
such  innuendo  as  the  following: 

"It  is  such  a  heavy  burden  for  that  poor 
Sebastian,  left  with  all  that  immense  concern 
upon  his  shoulders!  Of  course  the  dear  fellow 
is  completely  at  sea.  He  was  so  accustomed  to 
depend  upon  his  father!  And,  though  it  sadly 
interferes  with  Alfred's  legal  pursuits — he  has 
such  a  large  practice, — he  is  obliged  to  go  down 
to  the  office  almost  every  day." 

A  friend  of  the  family  sometimes,  listening 
with  a  kind  of  half -credence  to  this  account, 
which  had  the  air  of  being  perfectly  natural, 
put  in  the  question: 

"But  what  about  Louis?  He  is  a  very 
bright,  level-headed  fellow." 

The  answer  invariably  was  to  the  effect  that 
Louis  was  not  experienced  in  business,  ab 
horred  its  very  name,  and  therefore  could  not 
be  persuaded  to  take  any  trouble  at  all  about 
how  things  were  going,  or  to  sacrifice  himself 
as  Alfred  was  doing. 

Now,  all  this  was  wrell  calculated,  as  Sebas 
tian  was  fully  aware,  especially  in  these  times 
of  financial  disturbance,  to  shake  the  credit  of 
Wilmot  &  Co.  For  nothing  could  make  cus 
tomers,  or  those  who  had  negotiations  of  any 


72  THE  SILENCE  Or   SEBASTIAN 

sort  with  the  firm,  more  distrustful  than  to 
hear  that  he  who  was  suppos'ed  to  be  at  the 
head  of  afiairs  was  suspected  of  incompetency 
by  his  own  family.  As  Sebastian  knew,  there 
was,  however,  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  live 
down  in  silence  these  mischievous  reports.  He 
did  not  even  think  it  worth  while,  during  that 
interview  with  Louis,  to  protest  against  them. 
And  the  latter,  having  had  his  say,  and  ex 
torted  a  half  promise  from  his  brother  that  he 
would  go  away  after  this  time  of  stringency 
was  over,  took  his  departure. 

Sebastian,  being  left  alone,  locked  the  door 
of  his  office  and  found  relief,  as  it  were,  in 
throwing  off  the  mask  and  breathing  freely. 
He  brought  to  light  the  spectre  of  that  cruel 
knowledge,  and  examined  it  once  more  in  all 
its  bearings, — no  longer  from  the  written  page, 
which  lay  securely  in  its  hiding-place,  but  from 
its  hideous  details  which  were  stamped  and 
burned  upon  his  memory.  That  silence  to 
which  he  had  voluntarily  pledged  himself  had 
been  acting  as  a  corrosive  upon  his  nature, 
eating  into  its  hiddenmost  recesses,  burning 
and  searing.  Often  he  cried  out  to  himself 
that  by  far  the  easier  and  perhaps  the  better 
way  would  be  to  make  it  all  known,  at  least 
to  the  younger  members  of  the  family;  and, 
while  sparing  his  mother,  to  obtain  their  help 
and  co-operation.  But  he  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  the  wonder  and  the  horror  that 
would  cloud  Margie's  innocent  little  face  at 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  73 

that  revelation,  with  all  its  attendant  conse 
quences,— and  just  when  she  had  brightened 
and  revived  under  the  cheering  message  that 
the  priest  had  brought,  and  had  found  consola 
tion  in  her  now  serene  and  confident  prayers 
for  her  father.  He  told  himself  that  he  could 
never  let  Margie  know,  unless  some  definite 
emergency  should  arise.  He  tormented  him 
self  in  thinking  of  her  possible  marriage,  when 
these  circumstances  should,  in  all  honor,  be 
made  known  to  her  prospective  husband. 

As  regarded  Alfred,  the  young  man  dis 
missed  the  idea  of  the  older  brother  with  a 
kind  of  angry  impatience.  He  could  imagine 
his  dull  wonder,  his  incredulity,  his  suspicion 
(fomented  by  his  wife)  that  Sebastian  might 
be  inventing  all  this  for  some  purpose  of  his 
own;  and  finally  his  dismay,  and  his  disposi 
tion  to  blurt  it  all  out,  or  at  least  to  hasten 
with  the  intelligence  to  his  wife.  And  Sebastian 
could  not  endure  the  thought  that  she  should 
ever  be  informed  of  this  cloud,  holding  por 
tentous  elements  of  sorrow  and  disgrace,  that 
hung  over  them.  L,ouis  was  the  only  one  to 
whom  it  might  be  safely  imparted,  and  to  him 
some  day  it  might  have  to  be  told.  But  even 
from  that  ordeal  Sebastian  shrank.  He  had, 
on  that  night  when  the  tragic  secret  became 
his,  identified  himself,  as  it  were,  with  his 
father.  The  latter 's  shame  and  remorse  and 
misery  seemed  to  have  been  transferred  to 
him;  and  he  could  not  bear  that  that  parent, 


74  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

who  had  made  such  appeal  to  him  in  the  mute 
helplessness  of  death,  should  stand  condemned 
before  his  own  children.  He  fancied  that  Louis' 
condemnation  might  be  pitiless.  He  had  not 
much  toleration  for  weakness.  As  regarded 
his  mother,  he  simply  could  not  entertain  the 
thought  that  she  should  ever  know  that  in 
which  she  was  so  vitally,  so  terribly  concerned. 
The  most  serious  of  all  the  consequences 
of  this  secret  to  Sebastian  was  that  it  led  him 
to  neglect  his  religious  duties.  He  had  been 
faithful  to  them  from  the  time  he  left  college; 
although,  as  he  always  admitted  to  himself, 
without  that  fervor,  and  that  realization  of 
their  actual  bearing  upon  life,  that  had  charac 
terized  Margie  alone  of  all  their  household. 
He  persuaded  himself  now,  by  a  scruple  that 
had  attained  alarming  proportions,  that  if  he 
went  to  confession  to  a  priest,  and  especially 
to  the  priest  to  whom  he  felt  impelled  to  go, 
he  should  have  to  mention  some  of  the  circum 
stances  that  had  come  to  his  knowledge,  and 
be  advised  to  make  the  matter  known  to  those 
concerned,  or  to  take  some  step  which  his  own 
judgment  would  condemn.  The  fatal  defect  of 
his  education  and  the  ignorance  thus  engen 
dered  turned  him  away  from  religion  at  the 
very  time  when  it  could  have  been  most  service 
able,  and  from  the  counsel  and  help  of  that 
holy  and  experienced  adviser  who  would  have 
been  as  a  strong  bulwark  in  his  mental 
sufferings. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  75 

He  walked  about  the  room,  stopping  to  look 
out  of  the  window  again,  as  he  had  done,  in 
peace  and  tranquillity  of  mind,  upon  that 
other  day  while  his  father  was  still  living  and 
when  he  himself  was  a  happy  ignorance.  He 
saw  the  busy,  diversified  panorama  of  his 
native  city  outstretched  before  him,  and  the 
sun,  once  more  tending  toward  its  setting, 
shining  upon  the  roofs;  but  it  was  with  eyes 
to  which  all  things  were  meaningless,  and  a 
face  that  was  pale  and  haggard  from  the  stress 
and  tumult  of  his  thoughts.  When  Louis  had 
advised  for  him  a  tonic  and  rest,  he  had  been 
thinking  merely  of  the  business  worries  and 
responsibilities;  but  these  were  comparatively, 
as  Sebastian  felt  bitterly,  of  little  moment.  They 
could  be  faced,  as  other  difficulties  had  been 
faced  before.  Indeed,  great  difficulties  and  the 
hardest  of  work  had  usually  inspired  and  in 
vigorated  him.  Besides,  at  worst,  they  would 
be  over;  and  better  days,  from  a  financial 
and  commercial  viewpoint,  were  even  now 
dawning.  But  that  other  misfortune  loomed 
the  darker  with  every  day  that  passed.  It 
brought  all  sorts  of  complications  nearer,  and 
its  final  solution  appeared  more  problematical 
than  ever. 

The  young  man  had  gone  on  making  every 
sort  of  effort  that  could  be  done,  with  even 
the  most  elementary  prudence,  to  discover  the 
truth.  He  had,  in  fact,  taken  risks  at  which 
he  trembled.  Yet  the  mystery  remained  in- 


76  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

soluble;  and  it  began  to  seem  to  him,  as  it 
had  to  his  father,  that  Elmira  and  her  child 
had  vanished  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Now,  that  very  afternoon  that  Louis  had 
visited  Sebastian,  and  had  given  him  a  stronger 
assurance  than  ever  of  his  confidence  in  his 
capacity;  and  while  Sebastian  was  enduring 
an  anguish  that  only  a  strong  nature  like  his 
own  could  have  supported, — that  very  after 
noon  Margie  sat  with  her  mother.  The  talk 
turned,  as  it  very  often  did,  upon  the  vital 
topic  of  the  management  of  Wilmot  &  Co. ; 
and  Mrs.  Wilmot,  while  she  sewed  away  in 
her  quick,  nervous  fashion,  deplored  what  she 
called  Sebastian's  wrongheadedness  in  declin 
ing  to  make  more  use  of  Alfred's  willing  service. 

"But  that  is  the  way  the  world  over,"  she 
remarked;  "and  when  you  are  as  old  as  I 
am  you  will  see  how  true  it  is  that  young  men 
always  think  they  can  do  things  better  than 
any  one  else.  Nothing  is  too  big  for  them  to 
attempt,  and  so  they  often  end  in  disaster." 

"But,  mother,"  urged  Margie,  doughtily 
taking  up  the  cudgels  for  her  favorite  brother, 
' '  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  Sebastian  can  manage 
the  business  better  than  anybody  else.  He 
was  so  much  with  poor  father  and  learned 
everything  from  him." 

"No  one  is  the  worse,"  said  Mrs.  Wilmot, 
setting  her  handsome  chin  obstinately,  "for 
help  and  advice,  and  I  can't  forgive  Sebastian 
for  the  way  he  has  acted  toward  Alfred." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  77 

' '  I  know  Louis  has  perfect  confidence  in 
Sebastian,"  asserted  Margie.  "That  is  why  he 
keeps  away  and  lets  him  alone." 

"Louis  hates  business  and  is  engrossed  in 
his  profession.  He  is  far  too  selfish  to  want 
any  additional  trouble.  And,  besides,  he  hasn't 
Alfred's  legal  training.  It  clears  the  head 
wonderfully.  And,  then,"  went  on  the  mother, 
as  Margie  did  not  speak,  "he  is  so  good-natured! 
With  all  he  has  to  do,  he  goes  down  there  to 
the  firm  almost  every  day.  And  he  gets  no 
thanks  at  all  from  Sebastian,  who  has  been  so 
perverse  and  so  moody  ever  since  your  father 
died." 

Margie's  face  flushed  crimson. 

' '  O  poor  Sebastian ! ' '  she  murmured.  ' '  I 
don't  see  how  any  one  can  say  he  is  perverse 
or  unreasonable." 

'There's  no  use  arguing,  Margie,"  said  her 
mother,  quite  severely.  "I  know  Sebastian's 
qualities  as  well  as  you  do.  But,  where  business 
was  concerned,  your  father  spoiled  him,  and 
he  is  suffering  from  the  effects." 

So  Margie  was  reduced  to  a  silence  that  was 
plainly  dissenting;  and  Mrs.  Wilmot,  having 
stitched  a  seam  or  two  without  speaking, 
began  again: 

"Caroline  was  just  saying  the  other  day  that 
Alfred  had  thrown  himself  into  the  breach." 

At  which  gentle  little  Margie  retorted: 

"She  is  always  trying  to  thrust  herself  and 
Alfred  forward!"  she  said  vehemently.  "And 


78  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

I   shouldn't  mind — none   of  us  would  mind— 
if  it  weren't  breaking  Sebastian's  heart." 

' '  Margie ! ' '  cried  her  mother. 

"Well,  I  mean  worrying  him  to  death,"  said 
the  little  creature;  "and  he  has  so  much  on 
his  mind.  Oh,  it's  too  bad!" 

She  got  up  and  hastily  left  the  room,  as  if 
she  were  afraid  that  she  might  be  led  into 
saying  too  much.  And  her  mother,  with  an 
angry  look  that  marred  the  regular  beauty  of 
her  face,  sat  and  wondered.  She  was  more 
struck  than  she  would  have  liked  to  admit 
by  Margie's  contention.  But  she  set  it  down 
as  the  natural  partiality  of  a  sister  for  a  brother 
with  whom,  of  all  the  three,  she  had  been 
most  brought  into  contact;  and  also  to  a  certain 
jealousy  of  the  sister-in-lawr,  who  had  gained 
such  a  footing  in  the  household  and  was  so 
frequent  a  companion  of  the  mother. 

And  Mrs.  Wilmot,  then  and  afterward,  con 
tinued  to  adhere  to  her  owrn  opinion,  and  to 
support  Alfred  against  his  brother  and  against 
Louis.  It  is  possible,  indeed,  that  the  jealousy 
she  had  ascribed  to  Margie  was  not  absent 
from  the  antagonism  which,  as  something 
entirely  new,  she  had  shown  to  her  youngest 
son  ever  since  his  father's  death.  It  is  possible, 
too,  that  something  of  that  constraint  and  even 
fear  that  had  stood  for  many  years  between 
David  Wilmot  and  his  wife  had  been  trans 
ferred  to  Sebastian;  and  that  his  relations  with 
his  mother  had  suffered  from  a  perpetual  dread 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  79 

lest  by  some  word  or  act  he  might  break  that 
silence,  or  violate  that  secret  which,  save  for 
himself,  his  father  had  carried  with  him  from 
that  household  to  his  grave. 

In  fact,  in  that  typically  modern  household, 
where  individualism  may  be  said  to  have  run 
riot,  and  to  have  trampled  down  in  its  course 
many  precious  flowers  of  family  affection  and 
of  mutual  confidence,  and  where  the  spiritual 
had  been  in  nearly  all  its  members  obscured 
by  the  material,  there  was  no  common  rallying 
place  in  the  dissensions  that  followed  upon  the 
father's  death.  In  Sebastian's  bitter  trials, 
Margie  was  almost  his  sole  reliance;  though 
he  was  grateful  for  the  negative  attitude  of 
Louis  and  his  refusal  to  range  himself  with  the 
malcontents. 


8o  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 


VII. 

SEBASTIAN  had  only  one  distinct  memory  of 
Dorothy  Kent,  and  that  was  as  she  impressed 
his  mind  on  the  first  evening  of  their  meeting. 
His  sister  Margie  had  met  her  before,  and  spoken 
of  her  with  some  enthusiasm;  but  the  brother 
had  not  seen  her  until  that  evening  of  Mrs. 
Rollins'  reception.  It  was  almost  the  first  time 
since  the  mourning  that  Margie  had  gone  out 
to  any  large  or  formal  festivity;  and  Sebastian 
had  perforce  accompanied  her.  Society  as  a 
rule  had  no  particular  charm  for  him;  though 
there  were  certain  elements  in  his  nature  that, 
had  they  not  been  repressed  by  circumstances, 
might  have  made  him  its  ardent  votary. 

"Who  is  that?"  he  asked  of  Margie,  who, 
seeing  him  standing  against  the  wall,  had  come 
to  ask  why  he  was  not  dancing. 

Margie  looked  in  the  direction  indicated. 
"Why,  that  is  the  very  girl  I  was  telling  you 
about.    She  is  from  the  South.    Isn't  she  lovely 
and — different  ? ' ' 

"Different?  Yes,"  Sebastian  said  slowly; 
"but  about  the  lovely  I  am  not  so  sure.  In 
that  gray  gown,  with  its  touches  of  silver, 
she  looks  like  a  spirit  of  the  mist,  or  some 
thing  that  might  vanish." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  81 

"I  thought,  Mr.  Sebastian,"  cried  Margie, 
"that  you  never  noticed  dress!" 

' '  I  notice  that  one  because  of  the  wearer. ' ' 

Margie  looked  at  her  brother,  and  saw  his 
dark  eyes  fixed  upon  the  girl,  with  a  new 
expression  of  keen  and  vivid  interest. 

"Would  you  like  to  know  her?"  she  asked. 

"Surely  1  should!"  replied  her  brother,  in 
his  half -jesting  way.  "But  you  must  go  and 
ask  her.  She  may  have  no  desire  to  know  me." 

Margie  had  very  little  doubt  upon  that 
subject;  but  she  crossed  the  room  on  her 
mission,  leaving  Sebastian  to  study  more  in 
detail  the  clear  paleness,  which,  save  for  the 
light  flush  of  excitement,  had  a  transparent 
look,  and  the  eyes  that  were  luminous,  as  though 
a  lamp  had  been  lit  behind  them. 

"I  may  introduce  you,"  said  Margie,  return 
ing.  "And  you  know  she  is  Mrs.  Rollins' 
companion." 

"Lucky  Mrs.  Rollins!"  cried  Sebastian, 
whimsically. 

"As  I  was  telling  you  the  other  day,"  ex 
plained  Margie,  "Mrs.  Rollins  thinks  the  world 
of  her.  They  are  old  family  friends,  of  course; 
and  she  thinks  her  so  clever  and  charming." 

"It  is  hard  to  discover  a  real  butterfly 
among  your  sex,"  rejoined  Sebastian,  speaking, 
as  Margie  thought,  irrelevantly.  "They  always 
turn  out  to  be  something  quite  different." 

"Now,  Sebastian,"  admonished  Margie,  as 
they  made  their  way  through  the  crowded 


82  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

room  to  that  point  where  Miss  Kent  was 
standing,  "do  be  nice,  and  don't  l'X)k  bored 
as  you  sometimes  do,  and  as  if  you  couldn't 
take  the  trouble  to  talk  to  a  girl." 

His  eyes  were  eager,  shining,  as  in  moments 
of  strong  interest  they  were  apt  to  be.  Before 
they  reached  their  destination,  however,  he 
turned  with  his  usual  consideration,  and  said 
to  Margie: 

"But  if  she  should  consent  to  dance  with 
me,  I  must  not  leave  you  alone." 

"Oh,  no!  I  am  engaged  for  the  next.  I 
see  my  partner  coming  in  search  of  me  now7." 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Rollins,  who  had  caught 
something  of  this  little  byplay  and  had  heard 
Margie  Wilmot  ask  if  she  might  introduce  her 
brother,  observed  in  passing  to  her  companion: 

"So,  Dorothy,  one  of  the  wealthiest  young 
men  in  the  room  has  asked  to  be  introduced 
to  you.  Don't  look  shocked.  He  is  also  very 
nice.  And  I  want  to  warn  you  not  to  act  in 
your  usual  fashion." 

"Would  you — or,  rather,  would  he — prefer 
that  I  should  act  in  an  unusual  fashion?" 
inquired  Dorothy. 

"Don't  be  absurd!"  said  Mrs.  Rollins,  passing 
on  as  Margie  introduced  her  brother,  and  went 
off  also  with  her  partner,  and  Sebastian  made 
his  bow. 

"I  hope,"  he  said,  "you  haven't  the  aversion 
of  most  of  your  sex  to  a  serious-minded  young 
man." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  83 

"I  haven't  a  very  strong  aversion  to  most 
things,"  replied  the  girl,  looking  up  at  him  with 
her  direct  gaze.  "I  take  them  as  they  come; 
and  being  serious  is,  I  suppose,  better  than 
being  what  I  have  sometimes  been  called — a 
butterfly.  I  hope  you  have  no  prejudice  against 
butterflies?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Sebastian,  "I  like 
them.  As  a  boy,  I  spent  a  good  deal  of  time 
chasing  them  and  always  in  vain." 

' '  I  wonder  why  you  should  like  them  ? ' '  she 
remarked  slowly,  turning  her  head  a  little  to 
one  side,  and  considering,  as  though  it  were  a 
knotty  problem  that  had  to  be  solved. 

"It  is  easy  to  see.  They  are  the  poetry  of 
motion,  the  spirit  of  the  flowers." 

"You  don't  sound  very  serious-minded,"  said 
Dorothy. 

"One  can  not  always  be  consistent,"  argued 
Sebastian. 

"Genuine  consistency,"  answered  the  girl, 
"is  found  only  in  the  real,  undiluted  butter 
fly  species.  It  is  the  serious-minded  who  are 
inconsistent." 

"You,"  said  Sebastian,  gravely,  "are  de 
lightful.  I  hope  you  won't  mind  my  saying 
what  you  must  have  heard  often." 

"One  hears  all  sorts  of  things,"  replied 
Dorothy. 

"I  know,"  confessed  Sebastian,  "that  it 
would  be  more  usual  to  keep  such  thoughts  to 
myself,  at  least  until  further  acquaintance, 


84  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

and  to  think  them  in  solitude  over  a  cigar. 
But,  as  I  spend  a  good  deal  of  time  alone,  I 
have  caught  the  trick  of  thinking  aloud." 

"One  may  as  well  say  what  is  pleasant  to 
hear,"  Dorothy  declared  in  her  soft  Southern 
accent.  "It  is  only  ugly  and  bitter  thoughts 
that  should  not  be  spoken." 

Sebastian  was  half  startled. 

"That  is  a  very  wise  saying  for  a  butterfly," 
he  commented.  "But  I  always  had  an  idea 
that  it  was  a  very  estimable  insect." 

"Restless,  fickle,  inconstant,"  said  Dorothy, 
shaking  her  head;  "alive  only  in  the  sun 
shine,  dying  when  clouds  of  adversity  come." 

"But  it  has  performed  its  mission  of  giving 
joy  and  brightness,"  argued  Sebastian. 

"We  are  on  a  strange  subject,"  said  Dorothy. 
"Let  us  change  it,  or  we  shall  become  philo 
sophical  or  metaphysical,  or  something,  and 
didn't  somebody  say  that  metaphysics  means 
two  people  talking  together,  neither  of  whom 
knows  what  the  other  is  talking  about?" 

She  stopped  and  looked  for  a  moment  round 
the  room,  where  luxury  was  paramount.  Those 
brilliantly  lighted  apartments  were  idyllic  in 
their  furnishing,  everything  having  cost  thought 
as  well  as  money;  so  that  people  said  it  was 
an  artistic  education  to  go  to  Mrs.  Rollins'. 
Almost  from  the  farthest  parts  of  the  earth 
things  had  been  gathered  together;  and  yet 
they  were  so  unobtrusive  in  their  arrangement 
that  it  seemed  as  if  they  had  come  thither 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  85 

haphazard.  The  costumes  of  the  women,  the 
profusion  of  flowers, — everything  spoke  of 
wealth,  but  wealth  controlled  and  directed  by 
taste  and  education. 

"It  is  bad  manners  to  talk  about  oneself," 
resumed  Dorothy;  "but  do  you  know  that  I 
am  the  very  poorest  person  in  this  room?" 

"Are  you  really?"  said  Sebastian,  with 
interest. 

' '  I  am  the  only  one  of  all  those  girls  you  see 
here  that  can  not  have  a  new  gown  whenever 
she  chooses." 

Sebastian  looked  at  the  soft  gray  gown  that 
had  attracted  his  admiration,  and  that  seemed 
to  lend  her  a  distinction  amongst  all  those 
other  creations  that  were  shining  and  shimmer 
ing  about  him. 

"I  rather  pride  myself  on  my  poverty.  It 
makes  me  unique  here,"  she  added. 

"That  is  one  point  of  view,  certainly,"  said 
Sebastian.  "And,  in  one  sense,  poverty  means 
being  care -free." 

"In  one  sense,  perhaps,"  admitted  Dorothy, 
her  eyes  darkening  with  some  inner  feeling; 
"but  not  in  another, — not  in  a  hundred  ways! 
They  say  you  are  rich,  so  probably  you  don't 
know  anything  about  it, — its  shifts  and  its 
devices  and  its  contrivances.  One  good  thing, 
though:  it  gives  plenty  of  opportunity  for 
laughing  at  oneself." 

"And  that,"  observed  Sebastian,  approvingly, 
"would  be  an  original  kind  of  diversion." 


86  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"Oh!"  said  the  girl,  "you  have  really  missed 
a  good  deal  in  being  rich, — all  sorts  of  ex 
periences  that  you  can  never  have  otherwise, 
and  that  make  people  interesting." 

"They  certainly  do,"  replied  Sebastian,  bow 
ing  gravely  to  her. 

"As  a  rule,"  continued  Dorothy,  "rich  people 
are  uninteresting, — cut  too  much  on  the  same 
pattern. ' ' 

"It  is  a  pleasant  pattern,  though — for  them 
selves,  I  mean,"  said  Sebastian. 

"I  suppose  so,"  agreed  the  girl;  "though 
it  might  be  monotonous,  after  all,  having 
everything  one  wanted,  and— 

"Then  you  wouldn't  care  to  be  rich?" 
Sebastian  inquired,  with  a  curious  sense  of 
disappointment . 

"Why,  of  course  I  should!"  cried  Dorothy. 
'That  is  one  of  the  pleasures  of  being  poor— 
that  you  can  wish  you  were  rich  and  can 
imagine  what  you  would  do  if  you  had  money, 
and  wish  for  this  and  wish  for  that, — things 
you  will  never  have." 

"Beautiful  women  can  nearly  always  realize 
such  wishes,"  remarked  Sebastian,  impulsively. 

But  Dorothy  took  no  notice  of  the  remark, 
pursuing  rather  her  own  odd  train  of  thought. 

"Still,  after  all,  when  one's  wish  is  granted, 
it's  very  much  the  same  as  if  it  had  not  been 
granted.  Something  else  is  longed  for  instead, 
and  so  life  passes." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  87 

"It  has  not  passed  very  far  with  you,"  said 
Sebastian,  with  a  smile. 

"It  is  rude  to  refer  to  a  woman's  age," 
responded  Dorothy;  "but  I  don't  mind  telling 
you  that  I  am  just  twenty." 

"You  have,  let  me  see,  about  eight  years 
the  advantage  of  me,"  answered  Sebastian. 

"  So  you  are  twenty-eight? "  observed  Dorothy. 
' '  I  think  you  look  even  younger. ' ' 

"I  wonder  what  else  you  think  of  me," 
Sebastian  ventured. 

"I  haven't  had  time  to  think  much  yet," 
Dorothy  responded, — "we  have  been  so  busy 
talking." 

' '  I  wonder  what  conclusion  you  will  reach 
when  you  have  time  to  think  me  over, ' '  laughed 
Sebastian, — "that  is,  if  I  am  not  presumptuous 
in  supposing  that  you  will  give  me  a  thought 
at  all." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  shall!"  answered  Dorothy,  de 
cidedly.  "I  always  think  over  the  people  I 
have  met.  I  shall  remember  some  of  the  things 
that  you  said,  and  that  you  are  rather  out 
spoken  and  a  little  different,  and  that  you 
are  a  trifle  unconventional  in  the  matter  of 
paying  compliments." 

"And  very  much  in  earnest,"  added  Se 
bastian.  "But  I  hope,  when  I  see  you  next, 
that  you  will  tell  me  what  were  your  final 
impressions." 

"Perhaps  I  shall  never  tell  you." 

"That  would  be  cruel." 


88  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"It  might  be  very  kind,"  laughed  Dorothy, 
all  the  gravity  gone  out  of  her  face  now,  till 
it  wore  a  mocking,  almost  elfish  expression. 

"No,  it  wouldn't,"  Sebastian  argued,  good- 
humoredly;  "because  I  should  like  to  listen 
to  your  opinion  of  me,  even  if-  it  were  the 
worst." 

"If  it  were  the  worst,"  suggested  Dorothy, 
"it  would  very  soon  end  our  acquaintance." 

"Oh,  I  hope  it  won't  be  as  bad  as  that!" 
said  Sebastian.  "For,  indeed,  I  am  looking 
forward  to  our  better  acquaintance." 

'  That  all  depends—  "  replied  the  girl,  knitting 
her  brows. 

"If  it  depends  on  anything  I  can  think  or 
say  or  do,"  said  Sebastian,  lightly,  "it  will 
certainly  go  on  forever  and  ever." 

"For  a  rich  man,"  observed  Dorothy,  "you 
are  very  unconventional,  and,  I  think,  just  a 
little  bold.  One  doesn't  make  such  remarks 
on  a  first  acquaintance." 

Only    when    they    are    impelled    by    some 
unusual  attraction." 

"Still,"  said  Dorothy,  after  a  slight  pause, 
"it  seems  to  me  that  I  like  you  a  little.  And 
now  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  tell  me  your 
first  name, — not  that  I  am  going  to  call  you 
by  it,  but  in  thinking  over  people  it  is  more 
convenient." 

"My  name  is  Sebastian." 

"Oh,  I  like  that!"  said  Dorothy,  joyously. 
"It  is  so  different!  I  have  never  known  any 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  89 

one  of  that  name.  When  I  was  a  child  I  used 
to  love  the  saint, — a  splendid  soldier  of  the 
Empire,  standing  up  to  die  for  his  Faith,  and 
pierced  all  over  with  arrows.  That  would  be 
a  glorious  thing  to  do.  But  I  am  afraid  you 
are  not  a  very  great  saint  yet." 

"No,"  answered  Sebastian;  "and  I  haven't 
even  the  distinction  of  being  a  very  great 
sinner." 

"Oh,  that  is  no  distinction  at  all!"  said 
Dorothy,  decidedly.  "Any  one  can  be  that. 
It  is  like  going  down  a  toboggan  track." 

Sebastian  laughed  aloud. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  my  name  at  least  is  a 
recommendation,"  he  said.  "I  have  something 
for  which  to  thank  my  sponsors, — though  I 
fear  I  don't  know  much  about  my  patron 
saint." 

"That  is  a  shame!"  replied  Dorothy.  "If 
you  lived  at  our  house,  you  would  know.  My 
mother  is  as  familiar  with  every  saint  in  the 
calendar  as  if  he  or  she  were  a  personal  friend." 

The  remark  struck  Sebastian,  and  gave  him 
a  curious  pang. 

"And  your  name,"  he  asked, — "if  I  may 
ask  it,  just  for  the  convenience  of  thinking  it 
over?" 

The  girl  laughed. 

"My  name  is  Dorothy." 

"A  charming  name." 

"It  means  'Gift  of  God,"  said  the  girl. 
"And  my  saint  is  most  attractive.  Don't  you 


90  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

remember  how,  after  her  martyrdom,  she  sent 
the  flowers  and  fruits  from  Paradise  to  the 
unbelieving  lawyer  ? ' ' 

But  Sebastian  was  lamentably  ignorant ;  and, 
somehow,  he  felt  ashamed  of  his  ignorance  as 
he  listened  to  this  style  of  conversation,  that 
seemed  so  strangely  inappropriate  to  the 
surroundings. 

"Margie,"  he  observed,  with  a  certain  pride 
in  being  able  to  say  so,  "could  talk  by  the 
hour  about  those  things." 

"While  Mr.  Sebastian  is  too  busy,"  the  girl 
said.  "But  Margie — that  is  your  sister — is  the 
most  attractive  person  I  have  met  since  I 
came  here." 

Sebastian  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"Margie,"  he  said,  "if  a  slang  phrase  will 
express  it,  is  'all  right.'  I  know  you  and  she 
will  be  great  friends." 

"We  are  already,"  answered  Dorothy.  "And 
now  I  see  my  partner  coming;  so  good-bye, 
Mr.  Sebastian  Wilmot!" 

She  extended  her  hand  in  farewell. 

"I  hope  I  shall  see  you  soon  again,"  said 
Sebastian,  lingering. 

"Impossible  to  tell.  I  am  at  Mrs.  Rollins' 
service, — being,  as  perhaps  you  know,  her 
companion." 

Do  you  like  that  occupation  ? ' ' 

"I  love  her,"  said  Dorothy. 

And,  her  partner  coming  up,  she  was  spirited 
away,  leaving  Sebastian  to  take  his  place 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  91 

once  more  at  the  wall  and  to  smile  over  her 
sayings.  Presently,  seeing  that  his  hostess  was 
alone,  he  went  over  to  have  a  word  with  her. 
In  the  course  of  conversation,  Mrs.  Rollins, 
whom  he  had  known  almost  since  boyhood, 
asked : 

' '  How  do  you  like  my  little  friend,  Miss 
Kent?" 

"'Admire'  would  express  one's  sentiments  re 
garding  her,  I  should  think, "answered  Sebastian. 

"Yes,"  said  the  hostess,  "she  has  a  great 
deal  of  character.  I  am  glad  you  appreciate 
that;  for  she  is  the  truest  and  bravest  little 
soul.  The  family  has  had  misfortunes  to  no 
end.  They  were  such  a  happy  and  united 
family  when  I  first  knew  them.  But  every 
thing  seemed  to  change  with  the  father's  death. 
One  brother  was  killed  in  the  Cuban  war; 
another,  who  was  an  engineer,  was  killed  in  a 
mine  explosion.  One  sister  is  a  nun,  and 
another  married  away  off  in  Mexico.  The 
mother,  who  is  what  Catholics  call  a  saint, 
and  one  of  the  most  lovable  women  I  have 
ever  met,  is  exceedingly  delicate.  The  other 
children  are  younger,  and  Dorothy  is  keeping 
them  at  school.  As  there  is  one  sister  at  home 
to  take  care  of  the  mother,  I  persuaded  Dorothy 
to  give  up  the  typewriting  she  was  doing,  and 
come  to  New  York  for  a  winter  at  least.  She 
went  away  once  before  as  companion — it  really 
pays  her  better, — but  she  can  not  bear  to  be 
long  absent  from  home,  and  I  fancy  she  had 


92  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

a  singular  experience  that  time.  Of  course  I 
am  delighted  to  have  her  here  as  long  as  she 
will  stay.  Apart  from  her  personality  and  my 
friendship  for  the  family,  she  is  invaluable  in 
the  house.  She  always  has  her  wits  about  her, 
and  she  is  handy  and  capable  in  so  many  ways." 

"I  can  quite  believe  all  that,"  said  Sebastian, 
slowly.  "She  certainly  has,  as  you  say,  a  most 
attractive  personality . ' ' 

"The  man  who  marries  her  will  be  lucky," 
said  Mrs.  Rollins,  decidedly. 

"Is  there  a  man  or  is  it  only  the  man?" 
Sebastian  asked,  with  some  eagerness. 

"I  don't  think  there  is  any  one  in  particular, 
so  far  as  she  is  concerned.  Her  mother  told 
me  of  one  or  two  men  in  the  South,  and  she 
certainly  has  been  very  much  admired  since 
she  came  here." 

;'That  goes  without  saying,"  replied  Sebas 
tian.  Then  Mrs.  Rollins  exclaimed: 

"My  dear  Sebastian,  how  I  wish,  for  both 
your  sakes  that  you  would  be  that  man,  though 
everyone  says  you  are  not  a  marrying  man!" 

Sebastian  pondered  upon  this  statement, 
while  into  his  mind  came  surging  those  dark 
thoughts  that  made  it  seem  impossible  he  should 
ever  marry. 

"The  most  vital  question,"  said  the  young 
man,  laughing  in  order  to  give  a  light  turn  to 
the  conversation,  "would  be  Miss  Kent's  feel 
ings  on  that  subject." 

"A  question,"  said  Mrs.  Rollins,   "which  of 


93 

course  she  alone  could  answer.     But  you  are 
so  accustomed  to  succeed— 

"Not   in   affairs  of   this  kind." 

"You  have  never  tried." 

"Well — perhaps  not;  but  I  know  my 
limitations." 

Mrs.  Rollins  laughed,  and  tapped  him  on 
the  arm  with  her  fan. 

'You  know  your  advantages  very  well,  too, 
and  that  few  girls  would  be  so  foolish  as  to 
refuse  you." 

"Refuse  what  I  could  offer,"  said  Sebastian, 
a  little  bitterly.  "Even  were  that  the  case, 
it  would  not  be  very  flattering  to  my  self- 
esteem." 

"I  don't  mean  any  such  thing,"  rejoined 
his  hostess,  warmly.  "Even  apart  from  that, 
if  I  had  a  daughter,  you  are  just  the  sort  of 
man  I  should  choose  for  her." 

"And  very  likely  the  sort  she  wouldn't 
choose  for  herself,"  laughed  Sebastian.  "But 
it  is  hardly  probable  that  I  shall  inflict  myself 
upon  any  one  for  some  time  to  come,  at 
least.  I  have  too  many  irons  in  the  fire." 

'Take  care  they  don't  burn  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Rollins,  warningly;  for  she  thought  he  was 
looking  both  thinner  and  paler. 

'Yes,  some  of  them  are  burning  me  already. 
But  where's  the  remedy?" 

This  conversation  left  upon  the  mind  of  the 
astute  lady  two  distinct  inpressions.  The  first 
was  that  Sebastian,  who  was  usually  indifferent 


94  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

to  young  women  in  society,  had  taken,  in  that 
one  short  interview,  a  decided  fancy  to  Dorothy ; 
and  the  second  was  that  Sebastian  had  more 
than  the  cares  of  business  upon  his  mind,  and 
that  something  would  prevent,  for  the  present 
at  least,  her  secret  plan  with  regard  to  her 
protegee  being  carried  into  execution.  She  was 
of  a  sanguine  temperament,  however,  and  was 
very  far,  indeed,  from  despairing. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  95 


VIII. 

Now  that  the  first  sense  of  loss  and  the  shock 
were  over,  and  especially  since  she  had  been 
reassured  by  the  message  of  the  priest  as  to 
that  vital  point  which  had  troubled  her  more 
than  might  have  seemed  probable,  Mrs.  Wilmot 
recovered  her  ordinary  temper  of  mind  and 
manner  of  living  surprisingly  quick.  The  same 
things  interested  her  as  before,  and  she  had 
precisely  the  same  point  of  view.  The  chief 
difference  was  that  she  perhaps  idealized,  to 
some  extent,  the  husband  that  was  dead,  and 
she  found  her  will  curiously  in  opposition,  on 
certain  points,  to  that  of  her  son.  And  she 
the  more  bitterly  resented  what  she  had  called 
his  obstinacy  because  he  had  always  been  so 
dutiful,  and,  more  than  that,  so  attentive  and 
devoted  to  her.  It  seemed  intolerable,  there 
fore,  that  he  should  now  stand  before  her,  slim 
and  boyish,  and  as  considerate  as  ever,  but  with 
a  will  far  more  inflexible  than  his  father's 
had  ever  been.  In  the  end  she  had  always 
been  able,  save  in  one  particular,  to  move 
her  slow-going  husband;  and  it  was  this  very 
matter  that  now  became  a  chief  occasion  of 
conflict  between  her  and  Sebastian. 


96  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Thus  very  shortly  after  Mrs.  Rollins'  memor 
able  reception,  which  had  brought  a  new  ele 
ment  of  interest  into  Sebastian's  life,  he  was 
called  into  conference  with  his  mother.  He 
had  had  a  particularly  trying  day  in  the  office, 
and  was  feeling  unusually  fagged. 

"My  dear  boy,"  began  the  mother,  "I  want 
to  speak  to  you  about  something  that  has  been 
a  good  deal  on  my  mind  of  late." 

"Yes,  mother,"  rejoined  Sebastian,  taking  a 
seat  opposite  to  her,  and  smiling  into  the  eyes 
that,  in  color  at  least,  were  like  his  own.  "I 
hope  it  is  something  in  which  I  can  help  you." 
But  he  felt  a  foreboding,  as  he  always  did  when 
his  mother  became  confidential. 

"It  is  about  this  house.  You  know  I  never 
liked  the  situation." 

Sebastian's  brow  clouded  at  once;  but  his 
mother  went  on,  unheeding: 

"I  often  broached  the  subject  to  your  father; 
but  the  poor,  dear  man  had  grown  attached 
to  it,  and  could  never  make  up  his  mind  to 
move  away." 

Sebastian  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  his  brows 
were  knitted  anxiously. 

"From  an  economical  point  of  view,  it  is 
too  large  for  us." 

"But,  my  dear  mother,"  observed  Sebastian, 
laughing,  "economy — except,  of  course,  in  a 
general  way — has  not  become  a  necessity  with 
us." 

"No,  but  it  is  very  foolish  to  presume  upon 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  97 

that,"  said  Mrs.  Wilmot,  "and  to  act  as  if 
things  were  not  liable  to  change,  now  that 
your  father  is  gone,  as  Caroline  was  saying 
only  the  other  day." 

"A  pessimist!"  smiled  Sebastian.  "But  should 
her  worst  fears  be  realized,  it  will  be  time 
enough  then  to  consider  what  we  shall  do. 
And  surely  we  could  not  get  a  finer  house." 

'The  house  is  well  enough,"  dissented  Mrs. 
Wilmot,  impatiently.  "I  am  sure  for  my  part 
I  should  not  mind  if  it  were  smaller.  But  the 
neighborhood,  all  around  us,  is  becoming  worse 
every  day." 

Sebastian  thought  of  the  Square  which  he 
had  loved  since  his  boyhood,  and  which  would 
always  give  the  neighborhood,  in  that  direc 
tion  at  least,  a  loneliness,  an  isolation,  not 
easily  attainable  elsewhere.  But  he  knew  that 
argument  as  regarded  details  was  useless.  There 
was  something  much  more  serious  to  be 
considered. 

"Even  the  house  I  never  liked  as  well  as 
your  father  did,"  Mrs.  Wilmot  went  on.  "To 
me  it  is  gloomy;  and  more  so  now,  of  course, 
with  these  last  sad  associations." 

"Your  preference,"  said  Sebastian,  slowly, 
"would  be  quite  sufficient  reason  for  leaving 
it,  if- 

Mrs.  Wilmot 's  face,  which  had  begun  to 
break  into  smiles  at  the  beginning  of  the 
sentence,  darkened  at  that  last  syllable,  which 
she  knew  meant  a  good  deal. 


98  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"There  is  no  'if  about  it,"  she  said,  sharply. 
"What  I  want  you  to  do — and  yen  may  as 
well  know  it  at  once — is  to  sell  this  house 
and  buy  another  up  town,  in  the  new  part 
of  the  city,  where  we  can  breathe,  and  be 
near  all  our  friends." 

"The  Square  gives  us  a  pretty  good  breath 
ing  space,"  replied  Sebastian.  "But  we  need 
not  argue  as  to  details.  I  wish  I  could  oblige 
you  in  this  matter;  but,  as  regards  the  sale 
of  the  house,  it  is  impossible." 

"Impossible!  What  nonsense!"  cried  the 
mother,  angrily.  'You  are  getting  beside 
yourself,  with  your  airs  of  authority  and  your 
mystery,  and  all  that." 

Sebastian  was  silent,  and  the  mother  con 
tinued  : 

"There  is  not  a  word  in  the  will  about  it, 
nor  anywhere  else,  that  I  can  see.  I  was  asking 
Alfred  only  yesterday,  and  he  says  it  could 
be  sold  to-morrow." 

"I  know  my  father's  wishes,"  answrered 
Sebastian. 

'  Then  you  will  have  to  show  us  some  proof 
of  what  his  wishes  were,"  declared  the  mother. 
"I,  for  one,  will  not  be  contented  with  hearsay. 
But  I  know  how  it  is:  you  are  just  your  father 
over  again."  (Now,  no  twTo  people  could  be 
more  unlike  than  the  late  father  and  his  youngest 
son, — a  fact  which  at  other  times  she  fully 
acknowledged.  But  she  made  the  remark  merely 
by  way  of  argument.)  "You  know  that  your 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  99 

father  always  liked  the  place;  therefore  he 
wanted,  and  you  want,  to  tie  us  down  here 
forever.  And  I  suspect  that  the  strongest 
reason  of  all  is  that  you  like  it  yourself." 

Sebastian's  face  paled,  but  he  remained 
otherwise  unmoved.  There  was  no  answer  he 
could  make,  no  reason  he  could  give,  that  his 
mother  would  be  disposed  to  accept.  This, 
he  realized,  was  the  beginning  of  a  new  and 
more  acute  phase  of  the  struggle  that  had 
begun  with  his  father's  death. 

"The  only  compromise  I  can  suggest,"  he 
said  quietly,  "is  that  another  house  can  be 
bought  or  rented,  wherever  you  please;  but 
this  one  can  not  be  sold." 

"That  is  an  absurd  idea.  What  would  be 
the  sense  of  keeping  this  house  if  we  were  not 
living  in  it?  I  know  perfectly  well  what  Alfred 
will  say  to  such  a  proposal;  and  even  Louis, 
if  he  condescends  to  occupy  himself  with  our 
affairs  at  all.  Caroline,  who  is  a  very  clear 
sighted  little  woman,  and  has  been  talking  to 
a  real-estate  man,  can  tell  you  that  such  a 
house  as  this  could  not  be  rented  to  suitable 
tenants;  but  that,  on  the  other  hand,  it  can 
be  easily  sold  now,  and  to  greater  advantage 
than  later." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Sebastian,  with  some 
thing  that  was  almost  'sternness;  "but  Mrs. 
Alfred  has  given  herself  unnecessary  trouble. 
For,  whatever  may  be  any  one's  opinion  of 
the  matter,  this  house  can  not  be  sold." 


ioo  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

The  mother  looked  into  his  face,  and  for 
the  first  time  realized  that  here  was  a  will 
which,  in  some  matters  at  least,  she  could  not 
control. 

"I  am  perfectly  willing,  however,"  added 
Sebastian,  meeting  her  look  calmly,  "to  arrange 
that  you  and  Margie  may  live  where  you 
please;  and  you  may  be  quite  right  about 
preferring  another  sort  of  neighborhood.  For 
myself,  I  should  desire  nothing  better  than 
to  keep  intact  this  house,  which  has  so  many 
associations  for  me." 

"Now  the  secret  of  your  opposition  to  my 
wishes  and  to  the  wishes  of  other  members  of 
the  family  is  out!"  cried  the  mother,  trium 
phantly.  "That  is  what  I  always  knew  and 
suspected." 

"You  are  wrong  there,  my  dear  mother," 
said  Sebastian,  good-humoredly.  "My  own 
inclinations,  believe  me,  have  little  weight  in 
this  affair.  Nor,  for  that  matter,  need  they 
interfere  with  any  one's  inclinations.  I  could 
afford  to  purchase  this  house  for  myself,  and 
should  like  to  do  so;  but,  unhappily,  it  can  not 
be  sold." 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  at  this 
juncture  by  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door;  and  Mrs. 
Alfred,  opening  it  softly,  put  her  head  into  the 
room. 

"I  do  hope,"  she  said,  "that  I  am  not  dis 
turbing  anybody?" 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  101 

"Of  course  not.  I  am  very  glad  you  came," 
rejoined  the  mother-in-law. 

Sebastian,  who  had  risen  at  her  entrance, 
placed  a  chair  for  her.  He  thought  she  was 
looking  remarkably  well  in  her  new  mourning, 
which  suited  her  slender,  almost  attenuated, 
figure.  She  was  smiling  as  usual, — that  smile 
which  produced  infinitesimal  wrinkles  in  a 
complexion  that,  fair  as  it  was,  had,  somehow, 
the  appearance  of  having  been  withered. 

"I  heard  you  talking,  and  I  hesitated  about 
coming  in,"  she  explained,  in  her  peculiarly 
sibilant  voice;  and,  going  over,  she  kissed  Mrs. 
Wilmot,  and  gave  her  thin,  pale  hand  to  Se 
bastian.  The  former  greeted  her  cordially;  the 
latter,  with  good-tempered  politeness,  which 
at  that  moment  concealed  very  different  senti 
ments.  In  fact,  he  was  sincerely  sorry  that  this 
ally  for  the  opposition  should  have  appeared 
upon  the  scene  just  when  he  was  anxious  to 
impress  upon  his  mother,  with  as  little  argument 
as  possible,  the  finality  of  his  decision.  He 
was  quite  awrare  that  his  mother,  left  to  herself, 
might  have  been  ultimately  made  to  hear 
reason;  but  supported  by  Alfred  and  his  wife, 
who  seemed  particularly  desirous  of  acting 
on  every  occasion  in  opposition  to  himself, 
she  would  be  as  adamant. 

For  a  moment  Sebastian  hoped  that  nothing 
further  might  be  said,  and  he  even  tried  adroitly 
to  change  the  subject.  But  it  being  upper 
most  in  the  mother's  mind,  she  immediately 


102  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

began  to  acquaint  her  daughter-in-law  with 
the  matter  that  had  been  in  dispute.  The 
latter  listened  silently  at  first,  with  a  look  of 
intelligent  attention  and  sympathy  directed 
toward  Mrs.  Wilmot;  but  nodding  and  smiling 
occasionally  at  the  young  man,  to  show  that 
he  was  not  outside  the  circle  of  her  interest. 
Daughter  of  diplomacy  that  she  was,  she 
listened  to  Mrs.  Wilmot's  arguments,  only 
putting  in  a  word  or  two  from  time  to  time, 
to  imply  that,  in  her  opinion,  "mother"  was 
always  right,  and  in  perfect  accord,  too,  with 
her  own  clever  Alfred;  and  that  "this  dear, 
foolish  younger  son"  was  altogether  mistaken 
in  this  as  in  most  of  his  views. 

' '  Of  course  I  know  nothing  about  such 
things,"  she  said  at  last;  "though  I  did  happen 
to  get  a  few  points  from  a  friend  of  mine  who 
is  in  real  estate.  But  Alfred  is  convinced— 
and  you  know  he  is  slow  enough  in  making  up 
his  mind — that  this  house  must  be  sold.  I 
suppose,  being  in  the  law,  he  finds  out  a  good 
many  things — that  we  other  people  don't  know. 
And  he  agrees  with  my  friend  that  its  value 
is  greater  now  than  it  may  ever  be  again." 

'That  may  very  well  be,"  said  Sebastian; 
"and  I  am  not  arguing  against  that  point  of 
view.  Indeed,  I  am  not  arguing  at  all:  I 
am  stating  a  fact." 

"O  you  dear,  dear  fellow!"  said  Mrs.  Alfred, 
shaking  a  transparent  finger  at  him.  "I  am 
afraid  that  it  is  just  the  naughty  little  spirit 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  103 

of  self  peeping  out  when  you  oppose  your  dear 
mother. ' ' 

Now,  this  address,  and  her  manner  of  making 
it,  would  have  infuriated  many  a  man,  and 
certainly  an  antagonist  of  her  own  sex;  but 
the  youngest  of  the  Wilmot  brothers  was  con 
stitutionally  incapable  of  being  angry  with  a 
woman,  and  he  maintained  an  unruffled  de 
meanor,  though  he  was  far  from  having  any 
very  cordial  feeling  toward  his  brother's  wife. 
He  smiled  back  at  her  and  said: 

'You  are  just  as  far  wrong  here  as  my  mother. 
My  own  prepossessions  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  I  have  no  choice  in  the  matter  but  to 
obey  my  father's  wishes  and  keep  this  house." 

"I  wish  your  father  had  made  Alfred  an 
executor!"  cried  Mrs.  Wilmot,  her  face  flushing 
crimson  with  annoyance. 

"I  sincerely  wish  he  had  made  any  one 
else  but  me  executor,"  said  Sebastian,  in  a 
tone  of  such  genuine  feeling  that  his  mother 
paused  for  a  moment,  and  Mrs.  Alfred  observed 
him  narrowly.  "I  am  quite  willing,  and  I 
believe  capable,  of  managing  the  business  in 
all  its  details." 

At  that  remark  Mrs.  Alfred  fixed  him  with 
her  bright  eyes  and  her  penetrating  smile, 
which  said  as  plainly  as  words: 

"  You  think  so,  but— 

"But  as  regards  these  outside  affairs,"  Se 
bastian  continued,  "it  is  quite  another  matter." 

Mrs.    Wilmot  had   been   working  herself   up 


io4  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

during  this  interlude  to  a  state  of  fiery  indig 
nation,  which  caused  her  to  indulge  in  a  some 
what  intemperate  discourse,  in  which  the  dead 
and  the  living  were  somewhat  indiscriminately 
mingled.  Sebastian  sat  before  her,  abashed 
that,  in  presence  of  a  comparative  stranger, 
she  should  have  permitted  herself  such  liberty 
of  speech.  Still,  he  was  unmoved  in  his  deter 
mination  to  obey  his  father's  behest,  which 
had  come  to  him  in  the  solemn  stillness  of  that 
midnight,  together  with  an  awful  knowledge, 
the  thought  of  which  now  filled  him  with 
deepest  pity,  not  only  for  the  dead  father,  but 
for  the  living  mother,  who  was  speaking  thus 
in  ignorance.  He  had  never  allowed  himself 
even  to  feel  the  temptation,  that  might  have 
been  entertained  by  a  man  of  weaker  mould, 
to  speak  once  for  all  and  give  the  reason  which 
prompted  his  course  of  action  in  this  as  in 
other  affairs.  It  had  seemed  to  him  from  the 
first  impossible  to  inflict  such  a  blow  upon  his 
mother;  or  cast,  even  in  the  eyes  of  his  own 
children,  such  a  stigma  upon  the  memory  of 
his  father,  who  from  his  grave  appealed  to 
him  so  much  more  forcibly  than  he  had  done 
in  life. 

During  Mrs.  Wilmot's  tirade,  Mrs.  Alfred's 
smiling,  penetrating  glance  passed  from  the 
speaker  to  the  listener,  and  back  again. 

"We  must  get  Alfred  to  settle  this  dispute," 
she  said  at  last;  "he  has  the  clear  mind  of 
the  legal  temper." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  105 

"There  is  no  dispute,"  Sebastian  said  gravely , 
finding  it  hard  by  this  time  to  restrain  his 
indignation.  "I  am  the  executor  of  my  late 
father's  will.  More  than  that,  I  am  conversant 
with  his  last  wishes,  and  they  are  that  this 
house  must  not  be  sold." 

And,  having  said  so  much,  he  arose  without 
more  ado  and  left  the  room.  He  had  an  uneasy 
consciousness  of  the  smiling  glance  with  which 
Mrs.  Alfred  would  follow  his  retreating  figure; 
and  her  gesture,  half  deprecatory,  half  com 
miserating,  for  the  mother  of  such  a  son.  He 
drew  a  deep  breath,  and  went  out  of  the  house, 
that  he  might  brace  himself  and  think 
undisturbed. 

The  Square,  when  he  reached  it,  gave  him 
a  sensation  of  rest  in  the  midst  of  turmoil. 
Its  living  green  was  an  oasis  in  the  desert  of 
brick  and  mortar.  Above  his  head,  the  trees 
waved,  making  long  undulations  on  the  grass, 
that  rippled  likewise  in  the  breeze.  He  strolled 
about  aimlessly,  his  hat  thrust  back  upon  his 
head,  his  coat  unbuttoned,  as  if  he  would  avail 
himself  to  the  uttermost  of  the  fresh,  pure  air. 
At  the  farther  end  of  one  of  the  paths  he  en 
countered  Margie. 

"Halloo,  Margie!"  he  said.  "It  is  good  to 
find  you  here." 

"I  came  out  to  avoid  some  one,"  she  replied. 
"And  you,  Sebastian,  are  looking  very  tired." 

He  smiled  down  into  her  troubled  little  face, 
with  its  girlish  softness  of  contour  and  a  certain 


io6  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

quaint  simplicity  that  was  not  without  its 
charm. 

"Oh,  I'll  be  all  right!"  the  brother  said. 
"I'm  tough,  you  know." 

"I  think,"  the  girl  went  on,  "it  is  a  pity 
you  should  have  so  much  care  and  responsibility 
while  you  are  young." 

"Is  a  full  quarter  of  a  century  and  three 
years  more  young?"  inquired  Sebastian.  "And, 
after  all,  isn't  it  better  to  meet  anything  that's 
coming  while  there  is  some  fight  left  in  one? 
I  can  imagine  people  getting  old  and  weary, 
so  that  they  don't  much  care." 

"It  will  be  a  long  time  till  you  are  old," 
said  Margie;  "but  I  think  you  are  getting 
weary  already." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!"  returned  the  brother, 
bravely;  but,  somehow,  his  look  contradicted 
his  words. 

"Mrs.  Alfred,"  he  remarked  presently,  "is 
with  mother." 

Margie  made  a  gesture. 

"I  know,"  she  said.  "That  was  why  I  came 
out  here." 

Sebastian  laughed. 

"For  Caroline  Wilmot,"  said  the  sister, 
almost  fiercely,  "is  the  one  person  I  can  not 
bear.  Only  for  the  sin  of  it,  I  should  simply 
detest  her.  And  you  know  I  don't  hate  many 
things."  She  waved  her  hand,  as  if  appealing 
to  the  sunlit  world  around, — the  world  of  birds 
and  of  light  and  shadow  in  the  treetops. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  107 

Sebastian  laughed  again. 

"You  are  lucky,"  he  said,  "if  there  is  only 
one  person  whom  you  are  tempted  to  dislike. 
Now,  I  know  several.  There  is  a  man  who 
comes  into  my  office— 

But  Margie  was  not  to  be  turned  aside. 

"I  wish  Alfred  had  never  married  her,"  she 
declared  vehemently.  "She  makes  him  an 
echo,  to  repeat  all  that  she  wants  to  say." 

"That's  one  way  of  putting  it,"  Sebastian 
said,  "and  an  original  kind  of  echo.  Come, 
let  us  sit  down  here.  It  is  so  still." 

Margie  accepted  the  invitation;  and,  realiz 
ing  that  Sebastian  did  not  care  to  pursue  that 
disagreeable  subject,  left  it  for  another. 

"I  have  never  asked  you  since,"  she  re 
marked,  "how  you  got  on  with  Dorothy  Kent." 

Sebastian  was  looking  away  into  the  distance, 
and  did  not  at  once  respond.  When  he  did  it 
was  with  an  effort,  which  Margie  was  quick 
to  perceive. 

"Oh,  very  well!    She  is  charming." 

"Have  you  seen  her  since?"  asked  Margie; 
her  small,  birdlike  head  poised  for  informa 
tion, — simply  curious  like  a  child. 

"No,  I  have  not  seen  her  since,  my  inquisi 
tive  sister,"  laughed  Sebastian.  "I  have  not 
dared— 

"Is  she  so  very  formidable?" 

'Your  sex  mostly  are,  especially  when  rather 
small,  pretty,  and  intelligent,  all  in  one." 

But  Margie  surmised,  with  her  quick  intui- 


io8  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

tions,  that  her  brother  was  telling  her  so  much 
and  no  more;  and  that,  though  he  had  spoken 
lightly,  he  had  been  more  than  commonly 
impressed.  It  gave  her  a  pang;  for  somehow, 
she  had  fancied  this  brother  of  hers  to  be  above 
such  mundane  weaknesses  as  falling  in  love, 
though  why  she  had  never  asked  herself.  For, 
in  point  of  fact,  he  was  the  most  lovable,  the 
most  human,  and  possibly  the  most  susceptible 
to  feminine  charms,  of  all  her  brothers. 

"Well,"  said  Margie,  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"she  is  lovely." 

"Very  pretty,"  assented  Sebastian. 

"And  original  -  looking,  —  different  from 
others." 

"Yes,  I  think  that  is  a  great  part  of  her 
attraction,"  agreed  the  brother.  "And  do  you 
know,  Margie,  she  reminds  me  of  you?" 

"Oh,  no!  She  is  not  the  least  like  me,"  said 
Margie,  pleased  nevertheless  at  the  idea.  "That 
would  be  a  very  poor  compliment  to  her." 

"She  is  small,  too, — very  little  taller  than 
you  are;  she  has  something  of  the  same  bird- 
like  movements;  and,  as  far  as  can  be  judged 
in  so  short  an  acquaintance,  she  is  extremely 
sympathetic." 

Margie  was  silent  for  a  little  while,  looking 
absently  at  some  birds  that  had  flown  down 
from  the  treetops  and  were  hopping  about  on 
the  grass.  At  last  she  asked: 

"Is  it  likely  to  go  further?" 

"Emphatically,  no!"  said  Sebastian,  with  a 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  109 

force  that  startled  Margie.  "I  don't  see, 
however,  why  I  should  deny,  out  here  in  the 
open,  where  there  are  no  prying  ears,  that  I 
should  be  glad  to  go  further,  if  that  were  not 
impossible." 

"Sebastian,"  said  Margie,  tapping  his  strong 
brown  fingers  lightly  with  her  own,  "don't  be 
what  our  old  nurse  used  to  call  'play  acting.' 
If  you  really  care  for  this  girl— 

"Now,  now,"  interrupted  Sebastian.  "You 
are  running  on  too  fast!  Caring  for  some  one 
to  whom  you  have  spoken  only  once  is  a  very 
different  thing  from  considering  what  might 
happen  if  one  were  to  see  her  very  often.  Or 
perhaps — who  knows? — -the  illusion  might  wear 
away." 

"It  is  very  likely  that  you  may  see  her 
often,"  declared  Margie,  "since  she  and  I 
have  adopted  each  other  as  friends.  But  there 
is  no  reason  on  earth,  if  you  should  grow  to 
care  for  her,  why  you  can  not  marry  her." 

Sebastian's  brow  clouded,  and  his  heart  was 
wrung  at  the  remembrance  of  that  reason 
which  Margie  could  never  suspect,  and  which 
to  his  mind  was  sufficient  to  prevent  him  from 
thinking  of  Dorothy  Kent  or  any  one  else. 
And  he  felt  that  it  behooved  him  to  be  careful 
of  reaching  that  stage  where  he  might  be 
tempted  to  break  silence,  and  to  trust  that 
the  revelation  might  not  make  marriage  an 
impossibility.  He  said,  however,  in  a  voice 
that  sounded  quite  composed  and  ordinary: 


no  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"My  dear  Margie,  your  family  partiality 
makes  you  serenely  confident  of  my  charms." 

' '  I  am  serenely  conscious  of  your  advan 
tages,"  the  girl  said;  and  forthwith  she  began 
to  check  them  off. 

Sebastian  exclaimed  impatiently: 

"I  hope  that  she  is  not  the  sort  of  girl  to 
be  bought  like  a  bale  of  goods!" 

"Everyone  is  nowadays,"  Margie  responded, 
with  a  cynicism  that  sat  oddly  upon  her. 

"You  are  not,  Margie,"  exclaimed  Sebas 
tian, — "not  on  your  life!" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Margie;  "for,  you  see, 
I  have  never  been  poor.  That  is  the  test." 

Sebastian,  looking  down  reflectively,  surveyed 
the  gravel  at  his  feet. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that  would  be  the  test," 
he  admitted;  "and  of  course  she  is  poor.  But, 
happily,  the  problem  does  not  concern  me; 
for  if  she  be  for  sale,  I  can  not  be  a  purchaser." 
Then  he  threw  off  his  flippancy.  "Heavens, 
what  a  way  to  talk  about  such  a  creature  as 
that,"  he  cried,  "who  I  daresay  wouldn't  look 
at  me ! ' ' 

But  Margie  smiled  with  superior  sagacity, 
and  with  an  incredulity  that  was  addressed 
once  more  to  the  treetops  and  the  birds  soaring 
above  their  heads. 

"So  things  are  best  as  they  are,"  Sebastian 
concluded;  "and  I  am  a  fool  to  talk  of  the 
matter  at  all,  or  to  moan  about  what  can't 
be  helped." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  in 

He  had  spoken  thus  strongly  because  he 
had  a  feeling  that,  in  loyalty  to  the  girl,  since 
she  had  been  brought  into  question  at  all,  he 
ought  to  give  Margie  to  understand  that  it 
was  from  no  lack  in  her  that  he  refused  to 
press  his  suit.  And  this  impression  he  had  been 
very  successful  in  conveying.  In  fact,  Margie's 
feminine  imagination  carried  her  further  than 
Sebastian  had  gone  himself. 

"I  think  you  are  very  absurd,"  she  declared, 
"if  you  are  making  yourself  unhappy  for 
nothing." 

"Oh,  it  is  not  for  nothing,  Margie!"  he 
answered.  ' '  I  wish  to  God  it  were ! ' ' 

She  saw  coming  into  his  face  again  the 
strained,  harassed  look  that  it  had  worn  when 
she  first  met  him  on  the  path,  and  a  pang 
shot  through  her  heart.  Since  his  father's 
death  she  had  found  him  different  in  many 
ways;  and  she  had  supposed  that  he  had 
missed  his  parent's  companionship,  and  felt 
oppressed  by  the  burden  of  responsibility  that 
had  been  left  on  his  shoulders. 

"But,  my  dear  little  girl,"  he  said,  "you 
are  not  to  suppose  that  I  am  quite  so  ridiculous 
as  to  make  myself  unhappy  over  a  girl,  however 
charming,  to  whom  I  spoke  for  an  hour  in 
a  drawing-room.  The  truth  is,  I  have  many 
things  to  worry  me.  And,  by  the  way,  Margie, 
you  will  support  me  in  the  struggle  that  is 
on  at  present,  and  is  likely  to  continue,  about 
the  house?" 


ii2  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

' '  I  know, ' '  Margie  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"mother  would  like  to  get  away  from  here. 
And  perhaps  it  is  natural  after  what  has 
happened." 

She  paused  and  looked  up  into  his  face  with 
a  new  timidity.  Its  expression  was  stern  and 
set. 

"And,  then,  you  know,  mother  never  liked 
the  place." 

"But  it  can't  be  sold,  Margie,"  he  cried, 
"no  matter  what  the  reasons  may  be!  And 
I  want  you,  at  least,  to  believe  that  I  am 
acting  in  this  way  not  from  choice  but  from 
compulsion." 

"And  acting  rightly,  too,  I'm  sure,"  said 
Margie.  "And  I  know  that  that  woman  has 
been  worrying  you  to-day." 

"If  it  were  only  she!"  Sebastian  murmured, 
under  his  breath.  "But  come!  I  have  been 
spoiling  this  lovely  day  for  you,  and  this 
nice,  quiet  time  in  the  Square.  And  now  it 
is  about  time  to  go  into  the  house." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,"  agreed  Margie,  seeing 
how  the  shadows  had  begun  to  fall. 

And  together  the  two  walked  back  through 
the  Square,  wherein  they  had  played  as  children 
and  pretended  all  sorts  of  things.  They  stopped 
once  or  twice  as  they  went,  and  asked:  "Do 
you  remember?" —smiling  into  each  other's 
faces,  but  not  with  the  smile  of  long  ago. 

At  the  door  they  paused  in  silence  just  for 
a  second  or  two,  to  look  back  upon  the  scene 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  113 

they  had  quitted;  the  silence  broken  by  the 
jingle  of  car  bells  and  the  noise  of  a  city's 
traffic. 

"Mother  is  right,"  said  Sebastian,  abruptly; 
"and  I  really  suppose  that,  for  her  and  you, 
it  is  time  to  move  away.  But  there  is  no 
appeal  from  the  fact  that  the  house  can  not 
be  sold." 

Now,  though  Margie  naturally  wondered  why 
this  should  be  so,  she  loyally  accepted  her 
brother's  judgment. 

'You  will  give  me  what  help  you  can,"  said 
Sebastian. 

And  Margie  cheerfully  gave  her  promise. 

She  felt  a  little  sore  of  heart  at  the  half 
confidence  he  had  made  her  concerning  Dorothy 
Kent,  since  she  saw  that  there  was  danger  of 
never  being  first  again  with  that  brother; 
and  she  was  not  a  little  mystified  by  his  way 
of  regarding  a  possibility  that  would  seem  so 
ordinary  and  natural  to  a  perfectly  independent 
young  man  of  wealth  and  position.  Margie 
was  above  all  else  sensible,  and  she  did  not 
like  what  seemed  to  her  either  useless  mystery 
or  affectation.  Of  this  latter  she  was  loath 
to  accuse  Sebastian,  who  had  always  been 
pre-eminently  natural  and  straightforward. 

Sebastian  passed  on  upstairs;  and  Margie 
stood  a  moment  in  the  hall,  wondering  whether 
or  no  the  enemy  had  taken  her  departure. 

"Ah!"  said  Mrs.  Alfred's  voice  behind  her,— 
giving  her  arm  at  the  same  time  an  affec- 


ii4  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

tionate  little  squeeze.  "I  was  watching  Sebas 
tian  and  you  out  there  in  the  Square,  like  a 
pair  of  conspirators." 

Now,  it  must  be  owned  that  Margie  pulled 
her  arm  away  with  considerable  abruptness,  as 
she  said  almost  viciously: 

"I  wish  Sebastian  were  a  conspirator!  It 
would  be  better  for  himself!" 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  115 


IX. 

DR.  Louis  WILMOT  had  chosen  his  dwelling 
in  the  East  End,  rather  with  a  view  to  pro 
fessional  profit  than  to  desirability  of  location. 
The  block  in  which  stood  that  modest  brick 
edifice  was  quiet  enough,  and  free  from  ob 
jectionable  features.  But  close  at  hand,  on 
Second  Avenue,  noise  and  overcrowding  and 
squalor  ran  riot.  It  was,  however,  from  that 
pandemonium  that  he  hoped  to  gain  himself 
a  livelihood,  independent  of  anything  that 
should  come  from  the  gray-walled  and  blue- 
shaded  emporium.  And,  that  moderate  am 
bition  having  been  satisfied,  he  craved  much 
more.  Like  Sebastian,  he  had  aspirations.  He 
wanted  to  become  known  as  a  skilful  physician, 
at  first  of  a  metropolitan  fame,  which  should 
afterward  become  cosmopolitan  and  even  inter 
national.  He  had  become  interested,  too,  in 
some  of  those  cases  which  his  professional 
acumen  had  restored  to  vigor,  had  cured  of 
disease,  or  had  brought  back  to  normal  con 
ditions  after  an  accident.  He  listened,  with  an 
interest  that  was  by  no  means  entirely  feigned, 
to  life  stories,  expressed  in  Yiddish,  in  the 
rich  brogue  of  Cork  or  Kerry,  in  English  that 


n6  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

was  charged  with  Teutonic,  or  softened  into 
melody  by  Tuscan  or  Neapolitan  tongue. 

His  heart  and  soul  were  in  his  profession, 
and  its  calls  upon  him  became  more  persistent 
as  his  reputation  increased.  Moreover  his  lei 
sure  was  largely  spent  in  making  experiments 
in  his  laboratory,  or  plunging  deep  into  scien 
tific  treatises,  and  testing  new  theories.  For 
all  this  he  required  solitude,  so  that,  even 
apart  from  the  exigencies  of  his  practice,  he 
could  never  have  remained  at  home.  Nor 
was  he  of  the  temper  to  endure  patiently,  as 
Sebastian  had  done  and  was  still  doing,  the 
various  elements  of  discord  that  entered  into 
the  home. 

As  his  housekeeper,  Louis  had  Mrs.  Rosanna 
Mullin,  who  had  also  been  his  nurse.  "She's 
the  dynamo  of  my  establishment,"  he  used 
to  say.  "She  keeps  everything  going."  She 
certainly  left  nothing  undone  that  could  ensure 
the  young  man's  well-being;  and  she  gave  to 
that  dwelling,  which  might  otherwise  have 
been  dreary,  an  air  of  comfort  and  geniality 
that  was  instantly  perceptible.  She  had  come 
into  the  Wilmot  family  when  Louis  was  a 
baby,  and  him  she  consequently  idolized;  ex 
tending  her  affections  also  to  Sebastian  and 
Margie,  but  refusing  to  make  them  retroactive; 
so  that  she  always  spoke  with  a  certain  note 
of  disparagement  in  her  voice  about  Alfred 
and  "them  others  that  are  dead."  By  this 
latter  allusion  she  meant  a  little  brother  and 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  117 

sister  who  had  folded  their  wings  early  and 
taken  a  short  flight  to  paradise. 

Whatever  height  of  virtue  or  of  excellence 
these  might  have  attained  was  as  nothing  to 
Rosanna.  It  was  enough  that  they  belonged 
to  that  mystic  past  when  she  was  not  in  charge 
at  the  Wilmots'.  And  whatever  defects  were 
to  be  found  in  Alfred — his  want  of  what  she 
called  energy,  and  even  his  marrying  "a  poor 
wisp  of  a  thing," — were  credited  by  her  to 
his  misfortune  in  having  seen  the  light  "before 
her  time."  She  had  her  own  theories  about 
the  bringing  up  of  children ;  and  such  good  ones 
they  were  that  they  had  tended  to  neutralize 
in  the  younger  members  of  the  family  some 
of  the  vicious  defects  in  their  early  training. 
It  almost  seemed,  however,  as  if  she  exag 
gerated  her  own  influence,  and  ascribed  thereto 
Louis'  success  in  his  profession,  and  Sebastian's 
still  more  notable  prominence  in  the  mercan 
tile  world. 

So  far  as  all  household  details  were  con 
cerned,  she  ruled  Louis'  house  with  an  absolute 
sway.  As  regarded  himself,  however,  her  rule 
was  all  honey  and  sugar.  To  her  he  was  as 
much  "Nanna's  darlin'  boy"  as  he  had  been 
when  she  dandled  him  on  her  knees.  In  her 
thoughts,  Sebastian  and  Margie  were  always 
the  "wee  ones,"  and  affectionately  welcomed 
as  if  they  had  come — as  a  half-score  of  years 
previously  they  might  have  done — to  play 
with  their  brother. 


u8  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

' '  My  mother  is  coming  to  dinner  this  evening, ' ' 
Louis  announced  to  his  housekeeper  one  morn 
ing,  as  he  was  preparing  to  set  out  in  his  motor 
for  a  round  of  professional  visits. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Rosanna,  who 
was  always  hospitably  inclined.  "It's  not  very 
often  she  comes." 

Her  tone,  though  assenting,  was  cool.  She 
had  never  been  very  enthusiastic  regarding  her 
late  mistress.  There  had  been  points  on  which 
their  views  clashed,  so  that  when  they  were 
in  the  house  together,  there  were  whole  weeks 
at  a  time  when  it  was  armed  neutrality.  Both 
sides,  however,  strove  to  endure,  for  the  sake 
of  the  children.  Yet  Rosanna  had  strong 
notions  as  to  the  fitness  of  things,  and  knew 
that  it  behooved  Mr.  Louis  to  offer  hospitality 
to  his  maternal  parent;  also  she  took  pride 
in  the  "fine,  portly  Madam"  who  had  pre 
sided  over  the  Wilmot  mansion;  and  she 
often  expressed  admiration  for  Margie's  "pretty 
red  cheeks  like  your  Mamma's  there," — to  the 
disparagement  of  Mrs.  Alfred,  who  'looked  as 
if  a  puff  of  wind  would  blow  her  away.'  In 
fact,  the  dame  could  be  caustic  enough  in  her 
criticisms  except  for  those  she  loved,  and  these 
latter  she  was  inclined  to  praise  inordinately. 

"Won't  the  childer — I  mean  Mr.  Sebastian 
and  Miss  Margie — be  comin',  too?"  she  asked 
of  Louis. 

"Not  this  evening,"  he  answered.  "Mr. 
Sebastian  is  far  too  busy.  And,  besides,  I 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  119 

don't  want  to  overtax  you,  Rosanna;    for  Mr. 
Alfred  will  be  coming." 

"And  the  Madam,  I  suppose?"  queried  Ro 
sanna,  with  a  distinctly  acid  tone  in  her  voice. 

"Of  course,  of  course!"  said  Louis.  "If  one 
comes,  so  will  the  other.  But  Mr.  Alfred  could 
not  be  sure  because  his  wife  is  out." 

"Oh,  wirra,  wirra,"  cried  Rosanna,  "what 
were  they  thinkin'  of  at  all  that  brought  him 
up  and  left  him  with  no  mind  of  his  own?" 
She  cast  up  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  as  though 
she  were  addressing  some  invisible  presence. 

Louis,  suppressing  a  smile,  continued: 

"If  my  brother  rings  up  while  I'm  gone,  just 
say  it  will  be  all  right.  I  leave  everything  to 
you,  Rosanna." 

"//  Mr.  Alfred  is  allowed  to  accept  his  own 
brother's  invitation!"  said  Rosanna.  "Well, 
I'll  just  say  that  you'll  be  happy  to  see  them. 
And  as  for  the  dinner,  they'll  have  eaten  worse 
in  their  day." 

"And  few  better,"  said  Louis,  descending  to 
cajolery. 

"My  heart's  just  broke  about  Mr.  Sebastian," 
continued  Rosanna,  "he's  lookin'  that  pale  and 
thin." 

"It   is   the   natural   result   of   the   overwork 
he    has    been    doing.     I    have    ordered    him— 
professionally,  of  course, — to  take  a  rest.    He'll 
be  all  right  after  that." 

But  Rosanna  shook  her  head  and  heaved  a 
sigh. 


120  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"I'm  afraid  he's  being  harassed  and  worried," 
she  said,  "and  that's  worse  nor  any  work. 
But  the  worst  thing  at  all,"  added  the  old 
woman,  drawing  near  her  young  master  and 
speaking  impressively,  "is  that  he's  begun  to 
stay  away  from  his  Church  and  his  God,  just 
like  the  poor  man  that's  gone." 

Louis  looked  genuinely  startled.  From  certain 
defects  in  his  early  training,  he  was  not  any 
more  innately  religious  than  the  rest  of  the 
family,  always  with  the  exception  of  Margie. 
But  since  he  had  been  living  here,  in  the  white 
heat  of  Rosanna's  Celtic  faith,  and  had  ob 
served,  moreover,  upon  his  patients  the  relative 
effects  of  religion  and  irreligion,  he  had  held 
steadfastly  enough  to  the  precepts  of  the 
Church, — to  that  creed  which  Rosanna,  probably 
even  more  than  his  mother,  had  implanted  in 
him  in  childhood,  and  which  his  years  at  a 
Catholic  college  had  nourished.  He  realized 
to  the  full  what  such  a  deterioration  would 
mean  in  a  character  like  Sebastian's.  More 
than  that,  he  became  aware,  as  by  a  flash  of 
intuition,  that  something  was  the  matter. 
Sebastian  was  not  of  the  type  that  would 
allow  fatigue  or  worry  or  overstrain  to  prevent 
him  from  fulfilling  duties  which  had  become 
second  nature  to  him.  And  certainly  such  a 
result  could  not  have  been  produced  by  the 
shock  of  his  father's  sudden  death,  without 
religious  helps,  which  had  seemed  to  grieve 
Sebastian  inordinately,  until  his  doubts  upon 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  121 

that  point  had  been  satisfactorily  cleared  up. 
Rather  should  it  have  acted  in  a  contrary 
direction. 

It  was  this  psychological  problem,  therefore, 
that  agitated  Louis  even  more  than  the  question 
of  religion.  Something  had  jarred  the  fine 
mechanism  of  his  brother's  moral  structure. 
The  physician  was  well  aware  that  men  grow 
careless  from  their  surroundings  or  from  pressure 
of  affairs,  but  it  is  a  gradual  process.  Few,  if 
any,  in  his  experience  had  suddenly  abandoned 
the  practice  of  their  religion  without  some 
strong  determining  cause.  He  felt  sincerely 
concerned,  especially  as  his  regard  for  Sebastian 
was  greater  than  for  any  other  member  of  the 
family.  To  Rosanna,  however,  he  said: 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  this,  but  I  don't  very 
well  see  what  can  be  done.  It's  a  subject  upon 
which  I  can  not  speak  to  my  brother." 

"That's  true  enough,"  replied  Rosanna.  "It 
would  be  no  use  even  for  his  mamma  to 
speak." 

"No,  no,  of  course  not,"  said  Louis,  hastily; 
while  Rosanna  silently  reflected  that  there 
might  have  been  times  when  mamma  could 
have  spoken  with  some  effect  and  had  failed 
to  do  so.  That  had  been,  indeed,  one  of  the 
points  upon  which  the  old  nurse  and  she  had 
clashed. 

"I  think  Miss  Margie  will  be  the  one  to 
speak,"  Rosanna  remarked  at  last. 

But  Louis  had  the  same  horror  of  interfer- 


122  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

ing  in  Sebastian's  private  affairs  that  he  would 
have  had  of  any  one's  interfering  in  his  own. 

"I  don't  think,"  he  said,  "it  would  be  wise 
for  any  one  to  speak.  Sebastian  is  of  an  age 
to  manage  his  own  business." 

"But  isn't  it  the  business  of  everyone  that 
has  his  good  at  heart  to  save  him  from  destruc 
tion?"  argued  Rosanna. 

"I  don't  see  how  it  can  be  done,  though," 
Louis  answered;  "and  if  Miss  Margie  is  in 
ignorance  on  this  point  it  would  be  better  to 
leave  her  so." 

"  But  you  may  be  sure  she'll  find  it  out  sooner 
or  later." 

"If  she  does,  it  can't  be  helped.  But  I 
beg  of  you  not  to  speak  to  her  on  the  subject." 

"Well,  I'll  be  bid  by  you  for  the  present," 
said  Rosanna,  reluctantly.  "But  mind  you, 
Mr.  Louis  dear,  there's  them  that  sins  by 
silence." 

"Breaking  silence  just  now  would  do  no 
good,"  persisted  the  Doctor,  closing  the  dcor 
of  the  house  after  him  to  prevent  further 
discussion,  and  climbing  into  what  Rosanna, 
who  was  watching  him  from  the  window,  called 
"that  newfangled  machine  that's  like  one  of 
them  things  in  the  prophecies  of  St.  Malachy." 

The  honest  soul  was,  indeed,  deeply  perturbed 
by  the  intelligence — which  had  been  conveyed 
to  her  through  a  servant  in  the  Wilmot  house 
hold,  who  was  a  cousin  of  her  own — that  Mr. 
Sebastian  had  given  up  going  to  church.  For, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  123 

as  is  often  the  case,  the  domestic  had  dis 
covered  this  fatal  remissness  in  one  of  her 
employers  before  it  had  become  known  even 
to  his  nearest  relatives.  Rosanna  had  sharply 
reproved  the  servant  for  carrying  tales  from 
the  house  in  which  she  lived;  but  she  had 
hoped  to  profit  by  the  knowledge,  through  the 
advice  of  Louis  and  the  more  active  co-opera 
tion  of  Margie. 

"Well,  I  can  say  my  Beads  for  the  poor 
lamb,  anyway,"  she  decided;  "and  what  can 
be  better  than  to  have  the  Mother  of  God  taking 
the  case  into  her  own  holy  hands?  Wirra, 
wirra,  who'd  ever  think  it  of  Mr.  Sebastian!" 

When,  with  its  noise  and  its  chemical  odor, 
the  machine — which  Rosanna  detested,  because 
she  fancied  that  it  put  her  beloved  Mr.  Louis 
in  daily  peril  of  his  life — had  disappeared  round 
a  corner,  the  housekeeper  set  to  work  to  prepare 
for  her  grand  dinner.  To  do  her  justice,  she 
would  have  spared  no  trouble  to  put  "a  good 
meal  upon  the  table,"  no  matter  who  was 
coming,  let  alone  Mr.  Louis'  mother,  who  was 
entitled  to  the  best.  But  with  the  probable 
advent  of  Mrs.  Alfred,  she  was  spurred  on  to 
that  emulation  which  is  as  often  the  product 
of  hate  as  of  love.  She  labored  to  have  every 
thing  particularly  nice  for  this  woman,  even 
more  than  she  would  have  done  for  the  beloved 
Miss  Margie;  for,  whereas  the  latter  was 
pleased  with  everything,  the  former  Rosanna 
knew  to  be  both  finical  and  censorious,  and 


i24  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

sure  to  notice  the  dying  fly  no  matter  how 
excellent  the  ointment. 

Before  Louis  had  been  long  gone,  a  phone 
message  came — not  from  Alfred  himself,  but 
from  his  wife — saying  that  it  would  be  quite 
convenient  for  them  to  dine  that  evening  with 
Dr.  Wilmot. 

"And  the  Doctor  bid  me  say,"  answered 
Rosanna,  in  her  tartest  voice,  "that  he'll  be 
happy  to  see  Mr.  Alfred  and  his  lady  this 
evening  at  half -past  six." 

Dropping  the  receiver,  she  added  under  her 
breath:  "God  forgive  me,  but  I'd  be  happy 
if  she  never  darkened  the  door!"  And  she 
laughed  noiselessly  to  herself  as  she  took  her 
way  to  the  kitchen. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  125 


X. 

THAT  family  gathering  passed  off  as  such 
gatherings  generally  do,  the  only  ripple  on  its 
smooth  surface  being  the  host's  carefully  veiled 
antagonism  to  one  of  his  guests.  Louis,  of 
course,  was  all  devotion  to  his  mother,  and 
adopted  a  lightly  jocular  but  perfectly  cordial 
tone  toward  his  brother.  To  his  brother's 
wife,  the  attitude,  then  as  always,  was  different. 
The  politeness  was  too  evident;  the  attention, 
too  much  what  would  be  offered  to  a  stranger. 
The  astute  Mrs.  Alfred  was  perfectly  aware 
of  this  circumstance;  and  on  that  evening, 
more  even  than  was  her  wont,  she  spared 
Louis  the  cajolery  which  it  was  her  habit  to 
expend  upon  all  others  who  came  in  her  way. 
She  was  always  a  little  afraid  of  that  brusque- 
ness  of  his,  that  struck  out  suddenly  as  one 
might  strike  with  a  concealed  weapon.  On 
this  occasion  she  accepted  the  terms  upon 
which  she  was  placed  by  her  brother-in-law, 
and  her  smiling  effusiveness  fell  from  her  as 
a  mask.  She  was  grave  and  composed,  meeting 
her  host's  glance  with  an  inscrutable  look, 
and  almost  invariably  permitting  him  to  take 
the  initiative  in  the  conversation. 

"She  is  much  more  tolerable  in  this  mood," 


126  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Louis  said.  "  I  wish  she  would  make  it  habitual. 
It  removes  the  temptation  I  usually  have  in 
her  company  to  become  profane." 

Nothing,  therefore,  occurred  to  mar  the 
harmony  of  that  dinner,  admirably  served  as 
well  as  cooked  by  Rosanna  herself, — for  she 
would  never  permit  another  servant  in  the 
house.  She  passed  around  the  table  with  the 
stately  mien  of  a  duchess,  her  demeanor  per 
fectly  graded  according  to  her  sentiments  toward 
each  of  the  guests.  Her  courtesy  to  Mrs.  Alfred 
was  magnificent,  and  when  the  dinner  was 
done,  and  that  lady  felt  called  upon  to  com 
pliment  her  upon  her  culinary  triumphs,  the 
tone  and  manner  of  Rosanna 's  replies  gave 
Louis  an  inclination  to  uncontrollable  mirth. 

"I'm  glad  my  cookin'  is  pleasin'  to  you, 
ma'am." 

"Isn't  it  wonderful,  Rosanna,  how  you  have 
learned  to  cook?" 

"Askin'  your  pardon,  ma'am,  it  would  be 
more  wonderful  if  I  hadn't  learnedr  seeing  the 
many  years  I've  spent  in  the  kitchen." 

Mrs.  Alfred  thought  it  prudent  to  retreat 
under  cover  of  her  most  engaging  smile,  to 
which  Rosanna  made  no  response. 

"I  expect  she's  a  Tartar,  that  good  old 
Rosanna,"  said  she  to  Mrs.  Wilmot. 

"No,  no!"  answered  Mrs.  Wilmot,  surprised 
at  this  observation.  "I  wouldn't  call  her 
that,  though  she  has  some  peculiarities  of 
temper." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  127 

"Once  confess  now,  dear  mother,  that  it 
was  only  your  own  amiability  that  enabled 
you  to  put  up  with  her!" 

Mrs.  Wilmot  smiled  the  gratification  which 
she  could  not  help  feeling  at  this  compliment,— 
which,  indeed,  in  the  main  was  deserved.    For 
it  is  no  small  tribute  to  have  one's  amiability 
attested  by  a  daughter-in-law. 

"I  used  to  find  Rosanna  trying  at  times," 
she  said;  "she  was  so  set  in  some  things,  and 
so  religious  that  I  believe  she  would  have  had 
every  one  of  the  boys  priests  if  she  had  had 
her  way." 

"And  what  would  have  become  of  poor  little 
me  in  that  case?"  said  Mrs.  Alfred. 

The  mother-in-law  smiled  indulgently. 

"Oh,  Alfred  was  never  nearly  so  much 
under  her  thumb  as  the  others!"  Mrs.  Wilmot 
declared.  "He  always  clung  to  me.  And,  of 
course,  it  is  a  good  thing  to  be  religious.  I'm 
sure  I  wish  I  were  a  hundred  times  more  pious 
than  I  am." 

'You  are  just  right  as  you  are — the  dearest 
of  mothers!"  said  Mrs.  Alfred.  "And  surely 
your  boys  are  good  enough." 

"Well,  I  think  so,"  the  elder  lady  murmured. 
But  there  was  a  slight  hesitation  in  her  tone. 
She  had  been  less  certain  upon  that  subject 
since  the  death  of  her  late  husband. 

"And  if  dear  father  wasn't  much  of  a  church 
goer — why,  everybody  can't  be  a  saint— 

"  Like  our  little  Margie,"  observed  the  mother, 


128  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

reflectively.  When  she  was  a  child,  I  used  to 
be  positively  afraid  that  she  was  not  going 
to  live.  At  last  I  forbade  Rosanna  to  take  her 
to  church  except  on  Sundays.  And  only  for 
her  father,  who  thought  convents  were  the 
best  place  for  girls,  I  should  never  have  let 
her  go  near  the  Sisters." 

Mrs.  Alfred,  waiving  the  subject  of  Margie, 
continued  her  eulogy  of  the  dead: 

' '  Poor  father  was  so  good, — far  better  than 
some  of  those  who  are  running  to  church  all 
the  time!" 

"He  certainly  was  a  good,  kind  father," 
agreed  the  widow,  with  a  sigh.  'Yet  I  often 
used  to  wish  I  could  persuade  him  to  go  to 
church,  and  it  gave  me  such  a  shock  when  I 
thought  he  had  died  without  preparation.  It 
seemed  as  if  it  might  have  been  my  fault." 

"How  could  you  think  such  wicked  things 
about  yourself!"  said  Mrs.  Alfred,  smiling  into 
her  face. 

"And  then  I  began  to  believe  that  Rosanna 
might  have  been  right  about  the  boys.  I  used 
to  tell  her  that  too  much  church-going  would 
disgust  them  with  religion,  and  she  always 
answered:  'O  ma'am  dear,  you  might  as  well 
say  that  you  wouldn't  let  them  eat  any  natural 
food  for  fear  they'd  get  disgusted  with  that.' 
And  David  said  she  was  right,  because  he  had 
been  brought  up  with  scarcely  any  religion  at 
all." 

"But  wasn't  it  like  Rosanna's  impertinence 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  129 

to  talk  that  way,  when  the  boys  had  such  a 
perfect  mother  to  look  after  them?"  com 
mented  Mrs.  Alfred. 

' '  I  suppose  the  mother  generally  does  know 
best,"  agreed  Mrs.  Wilmot;  "and  I  was 
anxious  to  do  right.  But  my  mother  was  a 
Protestant;  and  Rosanna  was  older  than  I, 
and  it  might  really  have  been  better  to  let 
her  take  her  own  way." 

"One  thing  is  certain,"  said  Mrs.  Alfred: 
"that,  treasure  as  she  is,  I  couldn't  have  put 
up  with  her  for  all  that  time.  But  there!  I 
shouldn't  say  such  things.  She  certainly  is  of 
use  to  Louis." 

"Of  use!  Why,  Caroline  dear,  he  positively 
couldn't  do  without  her!" 

At  this  juncture  the  two  men  emerged  from 
the  smoking  room,  where  they  had  been  en 
joying  an  after-dinner  pipe.  Alfred  was  as 
solemn  and  portentous  as  ever,  but  it  was 
plain  to  see  that  he  hastened  with  some  relief 
to  join  the  womenkind;  for  there  was  always 
an  uneasy  consciousness  in  his  mind  that 
Louis  did  not  share  the  exalted  opinion  of  his 
attainments  which  was  common  to  both  wife 
and  mother. 

Later  in  the  evening,  Mrs.  Alfred  found  an 
opportunity  to  open  fire  upon  Louis  on  a  subject 
that  was  occupying  her  mind.  Alfred  and 
his  mother  sat  down  to  a  game  of  "Canfield," 
from  which  Mrs.  Alfred  begged  to  be  excused; 
and  the  Doctor,  as  they  all  knew,  never  touched 


130  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

a  card.  It  was  not  without  design  that  the 
younger  woman  got  out  of  earshot  of  the 
card-players,  and  also  at  such  a  distance  that 
her  host  must  necessarily  join  her.  This  he 
did,  bringing  over  a  book  of  illustrations  to 
break  the  awkwardness  of  the  tete-a-tete.  She 
turned  over  the  leaves  with  such  expressions 
of  admiration  as  the  circumstances  seemed  to 
warrant,  until  suddenly  she  said,  her  eyes  still 
upon  the  open  page: 

"Have  you  noticed  any  change  in  Sebastian 
of  late?" 

"What  sort  of  a  change?"  asked  Louis, 
putting  himself  at  once  upon  the  defensive. 

"It  is  not  easy  to  define,"  said  Mrs.  Alfred; 
"but  it  certainly  is  there." 

"If  there  is  a  change,"  observed  Louis,  "no 
doubt  it  comes  from  some  pathological  cause. 
His  health  must  have  suffered  from  shock, 
from  the  additional  responsibility  laid  upon 
him,  or  from  too  close  attention  to  business." 

"Pardon  me!"  said  Mrs.  Alfred.  "But  in 
my  humble  opinion — and  you  know  how  seldom 
I  decide  anything  without  Alfred — the  change 
does  not  come  from  any  such  cause." 

"If  from  no  such  cause,  what  then?"  de 
manded  Louis,  with  some  sternness. 

"I  don't  know.    It  seems  mysterious." 

Louis  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"We  medical  men,"  he  said,  "can  solve 
many  mysteries, — impaired  digestion,  nervous 
strain,  and  so  forth." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  131 

"I  suppose  I  am  imaginative,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Alfred,  in  a  tone  that  was  plainly  incredulous. 
"  One  is  apt  to  be  so  when  one  is  over-anxious." 

"There  is  no  need  for  anxiety,"  declared 
Louis,  somewhat  curtly. 

"To  me  there  is  great  need,"  Mrs.  Alfred 
said,  with  dignity,  "apart  altogether  from  our 
dear  boy  himself." 

Louis  smiled, — a  smile  which  to  Mrs.  Alfred 
was  provocative. 

"So  much,"  she  went  on,  "is  at  stake  for 
us  all, — for  my  husband  and  children;  I  do 
not  speak  for  myself.  And,  with  all  due  defer 
ence  to  the  dead,  affairs  have  been  so 
arranged  that  we  are  left  dependent  on  that 
one  person." 

Her  eyes  flashed,  her  breath  came  short, 
Louis  reflected  that  she  had  thrown  off  the 
mask  with  a  vengeance. 

"My  father,"  he  said,  "who  was  an  ex 
perienced  man  of  affairs,  had  the  same  confi 
dence  in  my  brother's  capabilities  that  I 
have." 

"You  have,"  cried  the  sister-in-law,  "because 
you  have  no  responsibilities,  no  marital  ties! 
Your  profession  is  sufficient  for  you  in  every 
way.  You  do  not  care." 

Louis,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  regarded 
her  with  an  ironical  expression. 

"You  credit  me,"  he  remarked,  "with  a 
surprising  indifference  to  the  goods  of  this 
world." 


132  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"An  indifference  which  is  natural  under  the 
circumstances,"  said  Mrs.  Alfred. 

"An  indifference  which  does  not  exist," 
retorted  Louis,  with  some  heat.  "There  is  not 
a  movement  in  the  mercantile  world,  and 
especially  in  that  branch  of  trade  which  concerns 
Wilmot  &  Co.,  that  I  do  not  follow.  Yet  I 
know  with  absolute  certainty  that  Sebastian 
is  the  right  man  in  the  right  place." 

Mrs.  Alfred  looked  down  at  the  open  book 
before  her,  with  a  smile  that  seemed  to  emit 
venom  as  a  glowworm  sends  forth  light. 

"Even  if  your  opinion, — from  which  some 
others  differ — be  correct,  what  if  Sebastian 
should  break  down?" 

'That  eventuality  would  then  have  to  be 
faced,"  said  Louis.  "As  it  is,  all  he  needs  is 
rest,  which  I  have  advised  him  to  take.  And, 
even  in  the  case  of  a  protracted  absence,  he 
has  reduced  that  immense  concern  to  an 
automaton-like  perfection,  that  would  enable 
it  to  go  for  a  time  of  itself." 

"And  if  Sebastian  has  done  so  much,  may  I 
ask  how  our  dear  father  was  engaged  during 
all  those  years?" 

"He  was  engaged  in  laying  the  foundations 
of  an  edifice  which  Sebastian  developed  and 
perfected  as  my  father  could  not  have  done." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  speak  in  that  dis 
paraging  way  of  poor,  dear  Mr.  Wilmot!" 
cried  Mrs.  Alfred. 

This    momentary    return    to    her    habitual 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  133 

manner  so  exasperated  Louis  that  he  had 
difficulty  in  preserving  his  self-control. 

"Discussion  of  this  subject,"  he  said,  "is 
not  only  useless,  but  has  become,  by  iteration 
monotonous  and  uninteresting." 

"To  you." 

"Discussion  is  always  uninteresting  to  me," 
agreed  Louis. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Alfred,  with  a  con 
centrated  spitefulness  that  was  a  revelation 
even  to  Louis,  who  disliked  her,  "our  dear 
Sebastian  may  have  other  preoccupations  of 
greater  interest  than  the  business." 

"Very  possibly,"  he  assented. 

"As,   for  instance,   this!" 

She  held  up  a  slip  of  paper  that  was  worn 
and  soiled.  Upon  it,  in  a  scrawling  and  plainly 
illiterate  hand,  were  inscribed  the  words: 

"From  Elmira,  with  a  great  deal  of  love." 

Louis  glanced  at  it,  his  face  flushing  crimson. 

"Where   did  you  get  that?"  he  asked. 

"It  was  picked  up,"  replied  Mrs.  Alfred, 
sweetly,  "by — by  some  one  where  Sebastian 
dropped  it  from  his  pocket." 

She  refrained  from  telling  this  stern  censor 
that  she  herself  had  picked  it  up  on  that 
memorable  night  when  Sebastian  had  emerged 
from  the  study  after  reading  his  father's  con 
fession.  That  particular  slip  of  paper  must 
have  adhered  to  his  clothing,  and  so  have  been 
dropped  inadvertently,  in  his  confusion  at  so 
inopportunely  confronting  his  sister-in-law.  She 


i34  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

had  seized  upon  it  and  retained  it;  but  she 
was  now  anxious  to  give  the  impression  that 
it  had  been  found  by  a  servant  and  transmitted 
to  her. 

"When  it  reached  me,"  she  said,  "I  wanted 
to  return  it  to  our  dear  boy;  but  I  hesitated 
about  doing  so.  I  thought,  too,  of  burning  it. 
Finally  I  threw  it  into  a  drawer,  where  it 
remained  till  just  this  very  day.  Finding  it 
again,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  would  consult 
you  before  destroying  it." 

"But,"  answered  Louis,  who  was  literally 
trembling  with  indignation,  "why  should  it 
be  of  the  slightest  consequence  what  is  done 
with  it?  The  proper  thing,  of  course,  would 
have  been  to  return  it  to  Sebastian.  But  since 
that  was  not  done,  there  is  an  end  to  the 
matter." 

"I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Alfred.  "I  fancied,  somehow,  that  it 
might  be  of  importance." 

"Of  what  importance  could  it  possibly  be?" 
asked  Louis.  "And  why  should  we  fancy  any 
thing  about  my  brother's  private  affairs?" 

"Now,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Alfred,  rising,  "you 
are  getting  vexed  with  me,  and  that  will  never 
do.  I  will  leave  the  piece  of  paper  in  your  hands, 
to  return  it  or  destroy  it,  as  you  wish." 

Louis'  first  impulse  was  to  tear  it  into  bits; 
but  a  moment's  reflection,  somehow,  made 
him  feel  that  it  might  be  better  to  retain  it, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  135 

and  to  take  some  opportunity  of  restoring  it 
to  his  brother. 

Mrs.  Alfred,  still  standing,  and  with  her 
most  deprecating  air,  inquired: 

"Now,  please  don't  get  angry  with  me  for 
saying  so,  but  don't  you  think  this  may  have 
some  bearing  on  the  change  in  Sebastian?" 

"I  don't  permit  myself  to  think  of  what 
doesn't  concern  me,"  said  Louis,  brusquely; 
"and  Sebastian  is  perfectly  capable  of  manag 
ing  his  own  affairs." 

Happily  for  the  peace  of  the  evening,  the 
game  of  "Canfield"  came  to  an  end,  and  Mrs. 
Wilmot  approached. 

"I  want  to  ask  Rosanna,"  she  said,  "for  the 
recipe  for  that  chicken  pie  she  gave  us  at 
dinner.  It  was  perfectly  delicious.  And  such 
vegetables ! ' ' 

"She  grows  a  good  many  of  them  herself 
of  late,"  said  Louis;  "and,  in  consequence, 
has  almost  turned  me  into  a  vegetarian." 

He  was  wondering  as  he  spoke,  at  the  trivi 
ality  of  these  remarks,  following  upon  that 
suggestion  which,  as  a  burning  brand,  Mrs. 
Alfred  had  thrown  into  the  placid  depths  of 
his  confidence  in  Sebastian  and  his  appreciation 
of  his  sterling  qualities.  It  struck  him  as  a 
sinister  coincidence  that  twice  upon  that  same 
day  he  had  heard — once  from  the  voice  of 
love,  and  then  from  that  of  hate — items  con 
cerning  Sebastian  which  troubled  him.  He 
walked  home  with  his  mother,  since  Alfred 


i36  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

and  his  wife  lived  at  the  other  side  of  town; 
and  she  talked  to  him  of  the  sale  of  the  house, 
and  of  Sebastian's  persistent  refusal  to  enter 
tain  that  idea.  And  for  the  first  time  Louis 
was  less  definite  in  his  support  of  the  latter; 
for  the  iron  had  entered  thus  far  into  his  soul 
that  he  felt  a  new  fear,  bordering  on  distrust, 
of  his  younger  brother. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  137 


XI. 

THE  determination  to  avoid  or  to  put  any 
person  out  of  one's  thoughts  often  results  in 
more  frequent  meetings  and  more  constant 
reminders.  And  so  it  proved  with  Sebastian. 
For  not  only  did  he  encounter  Dorothy  Kent 
on  a  variety  of  occasions,  but  since  she  and 
Margie  had  become  fast  friends  he  was  con 
tinually  hearing  her  praises  sung  or  her  merits 
discussed;  so  that  the  interest,  which  might 
have  died  away  under  the  pressure  of  various 
and  important  affairs,  was  kept  alive  and  inten 
sified  by  the  very  obstacles  that  seemed  to 
forbid  a  closer  acquaintance. 

Once,  and  only  once,  he  had  spoken  to  her; 
and  that  was  upon  Fifth  Avenue,  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd.  It  was  his  custom  occasionally, 
after  business  hours,  for  the  mere  sake  of 
exercise,  to  stroll  up  the  great  thoroughfare 
as  far  as  Central  Park,  his  absent  gaze  wander 
ing  over  the  throng  of  well-dressed  people,  or 
the  continual  stream  of  motor  cars  and  other 
equipages  that  seemed  to  image  forth  the  rest 
less,  swift  striving  of  the  modern  multitude. 
Many  were  the  nods  and  smiles  of  effusive 
greeting  given  to  the  wealthy  young  magnate 
of  commerce,  who  thus  indifferently  strolled 


i38  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

on,  with  the  air  of  one  whose  thoughts  were 
far,  indeed,  from  the  passing  scene.  He  returned 
these  salutations  with  a  cordial  courtesy  that 
had  made  him  many  friends,  but  without  a 
gleam  of  interest,  until  all  at  once  a  face  shone 
out  among  the  multitude,  and  a  dainty  figure 
appeared  directly  in  his  path.  If  it  had  been 
an  apparition  from  Fairyland  he  could  not 
have  been  more  startled,  as  he  hastily  raised 
his  hand  to  his  hat,  and  stammered  a  syllable 
or  two  in  response  to  the  softly  spoken  greeting. 
For  that  voice  possessed — or  did  he  merely 
imagine  it? — a  peculiar  quality  to  thrill  and 
to  charm.  He  could  scarcely  remember  after 
ward  what  it  was  that  he  said  next,  or  in  what 
form  of  words  the  girl  answered.  They  were 
few  in  number,  and  he  was  left  standing  as 
Dorothy  passed  on  and  mingled  with  the 
throng. 

He  fancied,  from  her  sudden  appearance, 
that  she  had  come  out  of  the  cathedral,  near 
which  he  was  now  standing;  and,  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  he  turned  and  passed  through  the 
portals,  that  were  thrown  wide  open,  as  if  in 
invitation  to  the  passing  multitude, — an  in 
vitation  sore  needed  by  those  hurrying  throngs, 
upon  whom  the  burden  and  the  stress  of  modern 
conditions  were  pressing,  in  one  way  or  another, 
with  crushing  force.  Sebastian  remembered 
how  he  had  sometimes  gone  with  Margie  when 
she  made  her  daily  visit  to  the  church,  and  he 
told  himself  that  it  was  a  good  and  commend- 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  139 

able  practice,  as,  having  made  his  genuflection 
he  sat  and  stared  from  the  marble  altar  to  the 
richly  painted  windows ;  and  over  him  stole  that 
sense  of  solitude,  of  rest  and  peace,  inseparable 
from  those  vast  structures,  whose  reason  for 
existence  is  the  worship  of  the  living  God. 

Young  Wilmot  had  by  no  means  lost  his 
faith;  for  his  staying  away  from  church  was 
a  series  of  deliberate  acts.  It  was  part  of  the 
great  fear  that  enshrouded  him  like  some 
noisome  mist,  and  made  him  always  dread  lest 
any  weakness  on  his  part  should  force  him  to 
divulge  his  awful  secret.  His  mind  and  his 
conscience  were  always  turning  themselves 
inside  out,  and  debating  whether  or  not  he  was 
bound  to  tell  his  brothers,  and  to  have  their 
co-operation  in  his  efforts  to  find  the  mysteri 
ously  vanished  Elmira  (who  must  now  be  well 
advanced  in  age)  and  her  daughter.  It  tor 
mented  him  with  the  belief  that  he  and  the 
rest  had  no  right  at  all  to  that  inheritance 
which  was  his  father's.  In  truth,  his  mind  and 
imagination  had  evolved  from  the  main  fact 
one  after  another  of  those  vain  chimeras  of  the 
brain  that  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  judge 
clearly.  And  in  that  unbalanced  condition  of 
his  mental  equipoise,  he  regarded  Church  and 
religion  as  the  force  which  might  compel  him 
to  do  things  that  would  have  unpleasant  con 
sequences.  What  if  it  might  even  be  decided 
that  he  was  morally  bound  to  tell  his  mother 
and  Margie? 


10 


i4o  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Of  late,  too,  he  had  found  himself  more  and 
more  isolated.  Margie  had  been  away  from 
home,  visiting  that  very  Mrs.  Rollins  to  whom 
Miss  Kent  was  acting  as  companion.  The  lady 
had  taken  the  two  girls  with  her  upon  a  trip. 
Louis,  as  Sebastian  fancied,  had  been  more 
reserved  in  manner,  had  eyed  him  with  a 
certain  scrutiny,  and  had  avoided  anything 
like  confidential  communication;  while  all  the 
time  the  storm  had  raged  concerning  the  sale 
of  the  house.  He  had  had  more  than  one 
scene  with  his  mother,  who  had  finally  told 
him  that,  unless  he  could  give  her  some  good 
reason,  she  would  insist  on  the  house  being 
sold.  Now,  although  he  was  aware  that  she 
was  legally  unable  to  do  so,  the  results  of  the 
threat  were  strained  relations  between  them. 
And  to  the  misery  resulting  from  the  thought 
that  his  mother  regarded  him  as  an  enemy 
was  added  the  minor  torment  of  more  and 
more  frequent  visits  at  the  office  from  Alfred, 
gloomy  and  suspicious.  In  the  sense  of  peace 
and  well-being  that  stole  over  him  as  he  lin 
gered  in  the  majestic  calm  of  that  vast  edifice, 
glorified  in  the  afternoon  sunshine,  the  harassed 
soul  of  Sebastian  became  dimly  aware  that 
this  influence,  upon  which  he  had  been  turning 
his  back,  might  be  precisely  that  which  would 
give  him  strength  to  bear  his  trials,  and  to 
comport  himself  with  the  fortitude  that  he 
feared  would  shortly  forsake  him. 

And  this  psychological  effect  upon  him  was 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  141 

none  the  less  marked  that  he  had  entered 
the  church  simply  because  it  was  connected 
with  the  one  image  of  brightness  that  shone 
out  from  the  surrounding  gloom.  In  fact, 
that  very  gloom  and  his  isolation  threw  into 
strong  relief  the  personality  that  had  impressed 
his  imagination  in  Mrs.  Rollins'  drawing-room. 
All  his  thoughts  of  the  girl  who  had  then  come 
into  his  life  were  genial,  wholesome,  natural; 
and  he  was  disposed  even  to  magnify  her 
attractions,  and  to  long  for  the  closer  ac 
quaintance  which  prudence  forbade.  After 
that  chance  meeting  on  the  Avenue  and  the 
half  hour  that  had  followed  in  the  cathe 
dral,  his  interest  in  her  received  a  powerful 
impetus. 

With  the  return  of  Margie  to  the  house  came 
a  period  of  comparative  calm  to  Sebastian;  for 
his  sister  had  been  so  struck  with  the  change 
in  his  appearance,  and  the  evident  marks  of 
the  strain  which  he  had  undergone,  that  she 
imparted  something  of  her  alarm  to  her  mother. 
The  latter  had  consequently  relented  in  her 
attitude  of  coldness  to  her  younger  son,  and 
had  even  spoken  to  him  with  something  of 
the  old  warmth  and  affection.  Moreover,  Margie, 
being  full  of  the  subject,  necessarily  spoke  of 
Dorothy  frequently  and  in  the  most  glowing 
terms.  Sebastian,  though  aware  that  it  was  a 
weakness,  indulged  himself  so  far  as  to  listen 
with  avidity,  and  to  concentrate  about  that  one 
object  all  the  poetry  and  romance  in  which 


i42  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

his  nature  abounded.  In  the  plain,  everyday 
course  of  an  ordinary  love  affair,  Dorothy 
might  never  have  obtained  so  strong  a  hold 
upon  him,  nor  so  deeply  stirred  his  entire 
personality,  as  now,  when  Destiny  rose  up  to 
forbid  further  intimacy,  and  to  relegate  any 
matrimonial  designs  to  the  region  of  the 
impossible. 

It  sometimes  happened  that  Dorothy,  return 
ing  with  Margie  from  some  social  or  shopping 
expedition,  met  Sebastian  at  the  door;  or, 
taking  tea  in  Margie's  boudoir,  she  encountered 
her  friend's  brother  on  the  stairs.  At  such 
times  she  saw  in  him  only  an  air  of  almost 
startled  avoidance,  that  she  felt  to  be  un 
flattering,  though  it  piqued  her  curiosity.  For, 
without  undue  vanity,  Miss  Kent  was  well 
aware  that  the  men  whom  she  had  met  during 
her  social  career  were  not,  as  a  rule,  anxious 
to  avoid  her. 

This  resolute  avoidance  of  her  friend  on 
Sebastian's  part  was  not  a  little  puzzling  to 
Margie,  and  especially  since  she  remembered 
his  expressions  of  admiration  of  Dorothy  Kent 
after  their  first  meeting  at  Mrs.  Rollins'.  She 
could  ascribe  it  in  her  own  mind  only  to  that 
increased  absorption  in  business  which  had 
seemed  to  make  Sebastian  so  unlike  his  former 
self.  Upon  one  occasion  the  subject  was 
broached  between  the  two  girls. 

'Your    brother    has    not    much    time    for 
society,"    Dorothy    observed, — adding    with    a 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  143 

little  laugh,  "nor  inclination  for  it  either,  I 
should  judge." 

She  had  just  seen  his  retreating  figure  dis 
appear  hastily  upstairs  after  he  had  saluted 
her  in  the  hall.  She  could  not  know,  of  course, 
that  he  was  revelling  in  the  glimpse  he  had 
caught  of  her,  and  had  taken  up  his  station  at 
the  window  of  his  own  room  that  he  might 
see  her  when  she  passed  out.  More  than  that, 
it  had  been  his  special  study  of  late  to  leave 
the  office  earlier,  on  the  bare  chance  of  meeting 
her.  His  thoughts  would  no  doubt  have 
astonished  her,  though  feminine  instinct  is  very 
quick  in  such  matters;  and  possibly  she  was 
aware  that  more  interest  might  coincide  some 
times  with  cold  avoidance  than  with  gay  and 
easy  familiarity.  But,  whatever  might  have 
been  Dorothy's  sentiments,  great  would  have 
been  the  astonishment  of  those  potentates  of 
Commerce,  with  whom  Sebastian  had  been  that 
day  conferring,  could  they  have  seen  him  thus 
waiting  upon  Opportunity. 

Sebastian,  secure  in  the  solitude  of  his  own 
room,  smiled  in  his  introspective  fashion  as 
he  realized  how  much  more  absorbing  were 
these  thoughts  than  the  consideration  of  trusts 
and  anti- trusts,  of  mergers,  with  their  advan 
tages  and  disadvantages,  in  which  had  been 
spent  the  whole  of  that  lovely  day.  It  was 
true  that  the  greater  number  of  those  ponderous 
citizens  had  passed,  each  in  his  day  and  genera 
tion,  through  some  such  experience;  and, 


i44  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

having  got  it  over,  as  one  might  get  over  the 
measles,  had  settled  down  for  evermore  to  the 
consideration  of  commercial  or  financial  prob 
lems.  But  not  one  of  them,  Sebastian  was 
convinced,  had  ever  lived  through  so  beautiful 
a  dream,  ethereal  and  yet  full  of  fire,  where 
spirit  and  matter  seemed  to  join,  and  where 
all  of  imagination  and  of  romance  that  had 
survived  the  prose  of  commerce  was  stirred 
into  active  life.  And  Sebastian  was  well  aware 
that  it  required  only  the  force  of  personal 
association  to  turn  this  dream  into  a  waking 
reality,  an  infatuation  that  would  forever 
destroy  his  peace  of  mind. 

Upon  that  very  day,  therefore,  when  Dorothy 
sat  below  and  discussed  him  with  Margie,  he 
was  urging  upon  himself  the  necessity  of 
striving  to  avoid  either  the  sight  of  her  or  the 
mention  of  her  name,  if  he  would  not  add  to 
his  other  troubles  this  still  more  disturbing 
element. 

Dorothy,  on  her  part,  felt  a  certain  interest 
in  that  young  man,  whom  his  sister  idolized, 
whom  so  many  people  had  treated  with  defer 
ence  on  the  evening  of  their  first  meeting; 
whom  Mrs.  Rollins  considered  the  most  eligible 
young  man  of  her  acquaintance;  and  whom 
Dorothy  herself  had  found,  during  their  brief 
interview,  to  be  a  good  deal  out  of  the  common. 
She  would  have  liked,  in  fact,  to  pursue  the 
acquaintance,  were  it  only  to  solve  the  problem 
of  his  personality.  When  she  had  made  the 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  145 

observation  concerning  him  already  recorded, 
Margie  had  answered  slowly,  as  though  she 
were  thinking  the  matter  out: 

"Oh,  Sebastian  really  likes  society!  I  am 
quite  sure,  if  he  were  not  so  busy,  he  would  be 
a  good  deal  of  a  ladies'  man.  I  have  heard 
him  express  the  greatest  admiration  for 
beauty." 

"You  mean,"  said  Dorothy,  "that  he  talks 
over  the  girls  he  has  met?" 

"Whether  he  has  met  them  or  not,"  re 
sponded  Margie,  "I  have  often  heard  him 
admire  their  appearance." 

Dorothy  was  silent,  considering;  while  Margie 
in  a  burst  of  confidence,  added: 

' '  I  am  going  to  tell  you  how  much  he 
admired  you  that  evening  at  Mrs.  Rollins'." 

Dorothy,  who  had  few  concealments  about 
her,  could  not  help  showing  her  satisfaction. 

"I  don't  know  about  the  admiration,"  she 
answered,  "but  we  seemed  to  get  on  rather 
well  together." 

"You  certainly  made  an  impression,"  said 
Margie ;  ' '  and  that  is  why  I  am  so  surprised— 

Margie  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but 
Dorothy  said  quite  calmly: 

"You  are  surprised  that  he  has  so  carefully 
kept  out  of  my  way  ever  since.  But  that  is 
nothing  uncommon.  The  conventional  admira 
tion  that  a  man  may  express  for  a  girl  after 
a  first  meeting  is  nothing." 

"I    may    be    wrong,"    said    Margie,    "but   it 


146  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

seemed  to  me  that  it  was  something  more  than 
common  with   Sebastian." 

There  was  a  pause,  after  which  Dorothy  said 
frankly : 

"If  that  were  true,  Margie — but  of  course 
even  a  sister  is  no  judge, — I  should  feel  almost 
more  pleased  and  flattered  than  I  have  ever 
been;  because  your  brother  is  not  at  all  like 
the  ordinary,  conventional  young  man." 

"No,  indeed,  he  is  not!"  exclaimed  Margie, 
her  face  flushing  with  pleasure.  "Sebastian  is 
so  different!  Oh,  I  can't  express  it,  but  he  is 
splendid!" 

"Even  his  name  recommended  him,"  said 
Dorothy.  "Sebastian  the  saint  was  one  of  my 
favorite  heroes  when  I  was  a  child.  And  I 
don't  think  we  ever  lose  our  first  impressions. 
Did  you  ever  see  a  picture  of  him,  Margie,  in 
his  splendid  armor  of  the  Imperial  Legion,  and 
then  a  martyr,  stuck  all  over  with  arrows  ? ' ' 

"I  never  did,"  replied  Margie.  "I  never 
knew  much  about  the  saints  at  all,  except  those 
with  which  Rosanna  is  familiar.  But  one  might 
be  stuck  with  arrows  in  real  life,  and  it  would 
be  just  as  heroic  to  bear  that  bravely." 

"Of  course  it  would!"  agreed  Dorothy;  but 
she  wondered  at  the  observation. 

"Now,  for  instance,"  went  on  Margie,  "wyhen 
I  get  cross  and  peevish,  and  am  downright 
rude  and  hateful  to  people  who  annoy  me,  and 
Louis  strikes  back,  Sebastian,  who  has  so 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  147 

many  worries,  never  loses  his  temper,  but  just 
goes  quietly  out  of  the  room." 

"He  has  no  temper,  then? "  inquired  Dorothy. 

"Oh,  yes!  A  few  times  I  have  seen  him 
really  angry.  But  he  has  his  temper  under 
perfect  control." 

"That  is  something  fine,"  said  Dorothy.  "I 
would  rather  be  able  to  do  that  than  anything 
else." 

"But  I  shouldn't  think  you  would  have  much 
of  a  temper,"  remarked  Margie. 

"Oh,  haven't  I?"  cried  Dorothy.  "Just  ask 
them  at  home  about  my  real  Southern  rages!" 

"  I  don't  get  so  much  into  rages  as  into  nasty, 
spiteful  tempers,"  confessed  Margie. 

"I  suppose  nearly  everyone  does,"  said 
Dorothy ;  ' '  though  I  did  fancy  you  were  exempt, 
with  your  angelic  little  face." 

Margie  laughed  gleefully  at  that  compliment. 

"I  used  to  have  fights  with  Louis,"  she  said; 
"and  there  is  some  one  else—  (She  stopped.) 
"I  had  better  not  say  any  more.  It  may  be  a 
great  deal  my  own  fault." 

"And,  anyway,  it's  always  better  to  strike 
in  open  fight,"  answered  Dorothy.  "I  don't 
believe  in  using  the  dagger  behind  backs." 

Later  Margie  returned  to  the  subject  of  her 
brother. 

"Perhaps  I  should  not  have  told  you  all  that 
about  Sebastian,"  she  said. 

"Why  not?"  inquired  Dorothy.  "Are  you 
afraid  I  might  nourish  hopes?" 


i48  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"  No,  no,  not  that ! "  exclaimed  Margie,  hastily. 
"But  it  might  be  better  to  let  you  find  out 
everything  for  yourself." 

"There  is  probably  very  little  to  find  out," 
laughed  Dorothy.  "But  what  you  have  said 
can't  do  any  harm.  It  gives  me  a  pleasant 
feeling  of  complacency,  and  disposes  me  favor 
ably  toward  your  brother.  It  is  like  planting 
a  seed  which,  on  better  acquaintance,  might 
grow  into  a  flower  of  good-fellowship  between 
us.  And  if  there  is  no  further  acquaintance,  or 
if  it  proves  disappointing,  why,  then  that  little 
flower  can  wither  without  injury  to  any  one." 

"But,"  said  Margie,  hesitatingly,  "if  it  should 
be  serious  on  Sebastian's  part?" 

"There  are  no  very  .alarming  indications  of 
that,  so  far,"  replied  Dorothy,  with  her  merry, 
tinkling  laugh. 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Margie,  in 
a  low  tone;  adding  after  a  moment:  "And 
you  know  Sebastian  would  be  a  very  good 
match." 

"As  for  that,"  said  Dorothy,  with  an  im 
patient  little  gesture,  "most  of  the  good  matches 
I  have  met  have  been  detestable." 

"Sebastian  is  not  detestable,"  objected 
Margie,  gravely. 

"No,  I  did  not  mean  that.  I  meant  that 
being  a  good  match  is  not  in  itself  an  argument 
for — for  anything." 

"I  suppose  not,"  said  Margie,  reflectively; 
"though  a  good  many  girls  nowadays — " 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  149 

"Bend  to  what  some  call  'the  exigencies  of 
circumstances.'  I  may  do  it  myself  sometime. 
But  not  just  yet, — O  Margie,  not  just  yet!" 

There  was  real  feeling  in  her  voice,  which 
made  Margie  like  her  all  the  better. 

"The  time  comes,"  continued  Dorothy, 
gravely,  "when  poor  girls  can  not  resist  the 
temptation.  And  I  wonder — oh,  I  wonder — 
if  some  of  the  unhappy  marriages  we  see  do 
not  arise  from  that?" 

"They  might,"  agreed  Margie;  "it  is  so 
hard  to  judge!" 

"When  one  is  safe  from  temptation,  like 
you,  daughter  of  the  haughty  rich!"  cried 
Dorothy,  waving  her  hand  in  mock  melo 
drama.  "But  I  will  say  for  myself  that,  so 
far,  I  have  been  tempted  to  do  anything  else 
in  the  world  rather  than  that." 

"Sebastian  would  be  glad  to  hear  it,"  said 
Margie. 

"Would  he?"  asked  Dorothy,  a  curious  ex 
pression  passing  over  her  face.  "It  might 
diminish  his  chances  with  this  poverty-stricken 
child  of  the  South.  But  why  do  you  think  so?" 

"He  told  me  so,"  declared  Margie. 

'Told  you  so?"  repeated  Dorothy,  sitting 
up  very  straight  and  looking  at  her  friend. 

' '  He  said  he  did  not  believe  you  were  the 
sort  of  girl  to  sell  yourself." 

"Oh,"  cried  Dorothy,  with  a  sudden  rush  of 
feeling.  "I  hope  he  is  right!  I  hope  I  shall 
always  feel  as  I  do  now.  But  sometimes, 


150  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Margie,  it  is  so  hard!  You  have  no  idea  how 
hard  it  is." 

Margie  looked  wistfully  into  the  girl's  face, 
but  she  scarcely  knew  what  form  of  words  would 
be  best  to  meet  that  confidence. 

"But  in  any  case,"  continued  Dorothy,  "I 
am  glad  he  thinks  that  of  me, — glad  from 
every  point  of  view." 

After  that  the  two  girls  stitched  away  at 
some  embroidery,  in  a  silence  that  was  full 
of  thought. 

' '  I  feel  rather  like  a  traitor  for  having  told 
you  any  of  these  things,"  said  Margie  at  last. 
"Sebastian  was  speaking  in  confidence,  and 
he  doesn't  confide  in  many  people.  He  might 
be  angry  if  he  knew  I  had  repeated  his 
words." 

"I  don't  think  he  would,"  said  Dorothy, 
looking  down  reflectively  at  her  hands.  "He 
would  be  either  quite  indifferent  or  glad  that 
I  should  know." 

"He  might  prefer  to  tell  you  himself," 
observed  Margie. 

' '  Or  keep  the  matter  locked  up  in  his  own 
mind,  as  he  seems  to  be  doing,"  laughed 
Dorothy. 

"Yes,  he  might  have  some  reason  for  doing 
that,"  assented  Margie,  gravely. 

"Now,  you  are  making  him  into  a  mystery." 

Margie,  remembering  what  her  brother  had 
said  in  the  Park,  and  how  he  had  declared  the 
impossibility  of  marrying  any  one,  felt  uncom- 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  151 

fortably  conscious  that  mysterious  he  had 
certainly  been  of  late. 

"However,"  Dorothy  declared,  "I  think  we 
have  talked  quite  enough  about  your  brother 
for  one  sitting.  His  ears  must  be  burning.  And 
you  must  promise  not  to  tell  him  any  of  the 
things  I  have  been  saying." 

"Why,  on  your  own  principle,  what  harm 
could  it  do?"  asked  Margie,  mischievously. 
"It  would  be  planting  a  seed,  and  so  forth." 

"Nonsense!  It  is  quite  different  where  a 
girl  is  concerned." 

"But  in  reality  you  have  said  nothing." 

"I  have  talked  about  him  and  let  you  talk, 
dear ;  and  that  in  itself  does  not  bear  reporting. ' ' 

"You  make  me  feel  more  conscience-stricken 
than  ever  about  Sebastian,"  said  Margie.  "But 
I  promise  you  that  I  shall  repeat  nothing, 
unless  I  find  out  that  it  really  is  serious  with 
Sebastian,  and  that  he  is  getting  discouraged." 

' '  He  will  never  get  discouraged  about  any 
thing,  with  that  look  in  his  eyes  and  the  set 
of  his  chin.  He  is  certain  to  get  what  he  wants 
in  the  long  run." 

"Including  you?"  jested  Margie. 

"Oh,  I  have  a  great  store  of  obstinacy 
myself,"  said  Dorothy,  "that  would  make  me 
fly  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  if  necessary." 

"Sebastian,  if  your  theory  be  correct,  might 
fly  there,  too." 

"Ah,  well,  there  is  plenty  of  time  to  con 
sider  all  that!  And  the  ends  of  the  earth  are 


152  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

very  far  away.  And — who  knows  how  any 
thing  will  turn  out?" 

She  rose  and  adjusted  her  dainty  walking 
hat  and  put  on  her  gloves,  preparatory  to 
departure;  while  Margie,  watching  her,  thought 
within  herself: 

"Since  Sebastian  will  probably  marry  some 
time,  and  I  shall  have  to  make  up  my  mind 
to  that  great  wrench,  I  would  rather  it  were 
Dorothy  than  any  one  else,— especially  when 
I  think  what  Alfred  has  gone  and  done,  and 
how  detestable  a  sister-in-law  can  be." 

Sebastian  also  saw,  from  his  window,  the 
departing  visitor,  and  admired  the  perfect 
poise,  the  graceful  and  easy  movement,  that 
had  come  from  a  life  spent  much  in  the  open 
air.  He  could  not  guess,  of  course,  the  thoughts 
which  she  carried  away  with  her  into  that  sunset 
atmosphere, — the  clear,  luminous  haze  that  was 
settling  over  the  two  rivers,  and  surrounding 
the  city  with  that  mystic  band  of  light, 
wondrous,  beautiful  as  the  spiritual  and  the 
supernatural  that  surrounds  this  workaday 
existence  of  toil  and  trouble  and  feverish  unrest 
and  unsatisfied  desires. 

The  heart  of  Dorothy  Kent  rejoiced  in  that 
radiance,  as  it  likewise  did  in  what  Margie  had 
told  her.  It  gave  her  a  subtle  sense  of  pleasure, 
of  triumph,  perhaps  of  satisfaction,  that  this 
Sebastian,  who  had  interested  her  much  more 
than  the  average  young  man,  should  not,  after 
all,  have  been  wholly  indifferent. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  153 


XII. 

SEBASTIAN  hesitated  for  some  time  as  to 
whether  or  not  he  should  go  to  that  dinner 
party  which  Mrs.  Rollins  was  giving,  possibly 
with  the  thought  in  her  mind  of  promoting  a 
project  which  had  occurred  to  her.  And  this 
was  no  other  than  a  better  acquaintance  between 
the  head  of  the  Wilmot  firm  and  that  young 
companion  whom,  in  her  childlessness,  she 
regarded  as  a  daughter.  Nothing,  in  fact, 
would  have  given  her  greater  pleasure  than  to 
secure  for  Dorothy  Kent,  whom  she  loved 
both  for  her  own  sake  and  that  of  her  family, 
so  advantageous  a  matrimonial  alliance.  Her 
keen  eyes  had  seen,  and  her  quick  ears  had  told 
her  from  the  inflections  in  Sebastian's  voice, 
that  he  admired  Dorothy.  That  was  a  common 
enough  circumstance.  Many  men  admired  the 
girl.  But  the  question  she  asked  herself  was, 
whether  that  sentiment  would  be  likely  to 
develop  into  something  that  was  warmer  and 
more  personal.  Of  course,  as  she  decided,  no 
better  means  could  be  devised  for  promoting 
that  scheme,  than  to  bring  them  together.  It 
is  true,  she  had  been  disappointed  that  Se 
bastian  had  not  even  come  to  call  upon  her 


154  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

protegee,  nor  showed  any  sign  that  he  was 
aware  of  her  existence. 

When  the  invitation  came  for  Sebastian — a 
tiny  little  note,  which  he  suspected  might  be 
in  Dorothy's  handwriting, — he  was  several  times 
upon  the  point  of  refusing.  He  told  himself 
that  elementary  prudence  forbade  him,  under 
the  circumstances,  to  carry  his  acquaintance 
with  the  girl  any  further;  since  he  was  all  too 
sensible  of  the  fascination  she  had  exercised 
over  him,  and  which  the  very  thought  of  her 
continued  to  exercise.  Closer  intimacy  might 
only  intensify  the  troubles  that  were  gathering 
so  thickly  about  him,  by  involving  him  in  a 
hopeless  love  affair. 

In  this  instance,  however,  inclination  finally 
won  the  victory  over  wisdom.  He  persuaded 
himself  that  he  could  not  run  the  risk  of  offend 
ing  Mrs.  Rollins;  that  it  would  be  discourteous 
to  the  girl  herself  to  refuse  the  invitation. 
Accordingly,  Sebastian  wrote  a  note  of  accept 
ance;  and,  though  with  many  misgivings,  sat 
in  his  office,  where  he  directed  the  affairs  of 
Wilmot  &  Co.  with  an  elation  of  spirit  that 
caused  more  than  one  person  to  comment  upon 
the  improvement  in  his  health.  He  was  as 
one  who  had  cast  aside  for  the  moment  galling 
bonds  that  were  constraining  him,  and  was 
now^rejoicing  in  the  sense  of  freedom.  No 
matter  what  might  come  or  go,  he  was  deter 
mined  to  enjoy  that  one  evening  in  the  society 
of  the  girl  who  had  so  powerfully  attracted 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  155 

him.  He  found  himself,  even  in  the  midst  of 
the  most  abstruse  business  calculations,  wonder 
ing  what  she  would  say  and  how  she  would 
appear,  and  whether  her  manner  would  show 
any  resentment  at  his  avoidance,  or  simply 
the  calm  indifference  of  a  stranger. 

At  table,  he  was  not  told  off  to  take  her  in 
to  dinner.  He  was  given  instead  the  wife  of 
a  millionaire  who  was  one  of  his  own  business 
associates.  But  Dorothy  was  placed  on  the 
other  side  of  him,  as  he  discovered  with  a 
quick  beating  of  the  heart  and  an  intense 
feeling  of  gratification,  that  told  him  how  vain 
had  been  all  the  art  that  he  had  practised  in 
keeping  out  of  her  way.  In  reality,  that  avoid 
ance  had  had  the  result  of  intensifying  what 
might  have  been,  in  ordinary  circumstances,  a 
merely  passing  fancy. 

His  manner  toward  Dorothy  was  merely 
quiet  and  subdued;  and  his  talk,  much  less 
easy  and  unconstrained,  as  she  was  quick  to 
perceive,  than  on  their  first  meeting.  With 
the  perception  that  was  almost  a  sixth  sense 
in  her,  the  girl  intuitively  felt  that  he  was 
upon  his  guard.  She  made  no  attempt,  however, 
to  turn  the  conversation  into  anything  like 
a  personal  vein,  occupying  herself  for  a  great 
part  of  the  time  with  a  very  ordinary  and 
prosaic  young  man  who  had  taken  her  in  to 
dinner. 

It  was  through  some  question  asked  by  this 
individual  that  Sebastian,  whose  ears  were 


156  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

strained  in  her  direction  even  while  he  con 
versed  with  his  dinner  partner,  gained  a  new 
light  upon  Dorothy's  antecedents,  and  a  clue 
which  afterward  proved  of  the  greatest  value 
to  himself. 

"Yes,  before  coming  to  Mrs.  Rollins,"  Dorothy 
said,  "I  was  companion  to  a  lady  out  in  the 
West,  whom  I  had  never  seen  till  I  took  up 
my  abode  in  her  house." 

"You  say  it  was  in  Colorado?"  the  young 
man  inquired. 

"Yes,  just  a  few  miles  from  Denver,"  said 
Dorothy,-  "a  wild,  romantic  spot,  with 
mountains  rising  all  around." 

The  young  man,  who,  as  it  appeared,  had 
spent  some  time  in  that  region,  at  once  launched 
upon  his  personal  experiences.  He  and  Dorothy 
compared  notes  as  to  scenery  and  impressions 
of  people  and  places;  while  Sebastian,  with  a 
curious  sense  of  irritation  that  this  other  should 
have  this  bond  in  common  with  Miss  Kent, 
devoted  himself  with  feverish  assiduity  to  his 
neighbor. 

Presently,  during  a  lull  in  his  own  conversa 
tion,  he  heard  Dorothy  say: 

^-The  lady  to  whom  I  had  gone  as  com 
panion  was  sufficiently  eccentric  to  give  a 
spice  to  life." 

"Was  she  wealthy?"  the  young  man  asked: 

"No:  rather  the  reverse;  though,  of  course, 
she  had  quite  enough  for  two.  She  was  un 
married,  and  about  middle  age,  I  should  judge; 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  157 

and  she  herself  used  to  say  that  she  was  an 
incarnate  mystery." 

"That  was  interesting,"  observed  the  other. 

"So  much  so  as  to  be  almost  weird  at  times. 
I  was  younger  then — only  about  seventeen, — 
and  I  used  to  be  half  afraid  of  her." 

There  the  conversation  branched  off  to  some 
thing  else,  but  the  subject  haunted  Sebastian 
with  singular  persistency.  Not  only  did  his 
interest  and  curiosity  centre  about  that  mys 
terious  personage  to  whom  Dorothy  Kent  had 
acted  as  companion,  but  it  also  seemed  to  throw 
a  new  light  of  interest  about  the  girl  herself. 
For  his  imagination  pictured  her  far  off  in  that 
wild,  romantic  spot,  the  associate  of  a  woman, 
who  was,  to  say  the  least,  eccentric  and  sur 
rounded  by  a  halo  of  mystery.  That  mystery 
in  itself  appealed  to  him,  who  had  been  so 
lately  confronted  writh  the  great  mystery  of 
a  life. 

Therefore,  the  inward  struggle  between  pru 
dence  and  inclination  had  been  short;  and 
after  dinner  Sebastian  found  himself  seated 
beside  Dorothy,  with  a  deliberate  yielding  to 
temptation.  And  it  must  be  owned  that 
Dorothy  had  seen  him  approaching  her  with  a 
thrill  of  anticipatory  pleasure,  and  possibly  an 
intuitive  perception  that  inclination  had  con 
quered  some  other  force  which  had  been  keep 
ing  him  away  from  her.  There  was  a  slight 
amusement  in  her  eyes,  too,  when  the  young 
man,  without  conventional  platitudes,  pro- 


i58  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

ceeded  directly  to  the  subject  which  interested 
him,  with  a  frank  avowal  that  he  had  been  more 
interested  in  her  conversation  than  in  that 
which  he  had  been  so  industriously  maintaining 
with  his  neighbor  on  the  other  side. 

"I  should  like,"  he  said,  "to  hear  something 
of  your  life  in  the  West,  of  which  I  heard  you 
talking  at  dinner." 

"My  life  there,"  replied  Dorothy,  "was 
singularly  quiet  and  uneventful,  though  the 
place  itself  was  lovely.  The  mountains,  the 
deep  canyons,  the  wonderful  vegetation,  the 
beautiful  river  near  at  hand — oh,  there  couldn't 
be  anything  more  beautiful  in  the  whole  world ! ' ' 

"So  I  have  always  heard,"  assented  Sebas 
tian.  "I  think  we  have  the  finest  country  in 
the  world.  I  have  never  been  so  far  West; 
but  when  I  take  the  rest  that  my  medical 
brother  has  prescribed,  I  think  I  shall  go  there." 

"You  would  enjoy  it,"  Dorothy  assured 
him,  "especially  if  you  care  at  all  about  shoot 
ing  or  fishing." 

"I'm  not  much  of  a  shot,"  said  Sebastian; 
"but  I  have  had  some  luck  with  rod  and  line. 
But,  do  you  know,  apart  from  the  country, 
which  has  always  appealed  to  me,  I  heard 
you  talking  at  dinner  of  an  eccentric  lady, 
who  seemed  to  be  decidedly  interesting?" 

"So  you  are  curious,  then?"  inquired 
Dorothy,  the  smile  deepening  in  her  eyes,  which 
Sebastian  was  thinking  at  the  moment  were 
distractingly  lovely.  It  was  on  the  tip  of  his 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  159 

tongue  to  say,  "Curious  about  anything  that 
concerns  you."  But  prudence  had  not  entirely 
abandoned  him,  and  he  contented  himself  with 
admitting  that  he  was  curious  on  certain 
subjects,  and  that  that  particular  one  appeared 
interesting. 

"It  was  interesting,"  said  Dorothy.  "The 
character  of  my  employer — for  you  know  I 
was  companion  to  her — seemed  to  fit  in  well 
with  the  wild  character  of  the  country.  It  was 
full  of  inequalities.  It  had  its  heights  and 
depths,  and  it  was  mysterious." 

"She  was  not,   I  suppose,  young?" 

"No,"  said  Dorothy;  "though  I  rather 
wonder  why  you  should  assume  that." 

"You  are  nothing  if  not  analytical,"  smiled 
Sebastian.  "But  I  think  1  may  have  heard 
you  say  so.  Besides,  ladies  who  are  young  do 
not  often  take  a  very  young  lady  for  com 
panion;  and  their  characters,  as  a  rule,  have 
not  all  the  attributes  with  which  you  have  just 
credited  your  mysterious  personage." 

'You  talk,"  said  Dorothy,  with  some  resent 
ment,  "as  if  you  were  old  and  wise,  and  as  if 
young  girls  were  shallow  and  commonplace, 
and  without  heights  or  depths." 

"Scarcely  a  fair  conclusion,"  returned  Se 
bastian.  "But  1  think  we  may  admit  that  it 
is  ordinarily  age  and  experience,  except  in  the 
case  of  some  premature  trials,  which  bring 
out  all  those  qualities." 

"I   am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Dorothy. 


160  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"I  don't  pretend  to  have  a  wide  experience  of 
life,  but  1  think  there  are  often  in  the  stormy, 
passionate  heart  of  a  child  heights  and  depths, 
and  mysteries  too,  that  her  elders  have  never 
sounded." 

"You  are,"  said  Sebastian,  thoughtfully, 
"speaking  of  the  exceptional,  and  I  of  the 
ordinary." 

"I  don't  think  any  life  or  any  character  is 
just  ordinary,  if  we  only  knewr  it  in  all  its 
bearings.  But  here  we  are  talking  away  like 
two  old  philosophers!"  said  Dorothy,  frowning 
slightly. 

For  she  felt,  somehow,  that  at  the  rose  car 
nival  of  youth,  at  which  they  were  both  assist 
ing,  there  were  more  absorbing  things,  than 
the  consideration  of  abstruse  problems.  She 
would  like  to  have  heard  Sebastian  talk  about 
himself,  or  perhaps  still  more,  about  herself. 
She  had,  in  fact,  an  eager  curiosity  to  know 
how  this  much-praised  brother  of  her  friend, 
this  magnate  of  commerce,  felt  toward  her. 

"We  have  strayed  away,  too,  from  your 
mystery,"  remarked  Sebastian. 

"Oh,"  said  Dorothy,  "as  you  may  have 
heard  me  say  at  the  table,  she  used  to  describe 
herself  as  an  incarnate  mystery.  I  suspect 
she  must  have  got  that  expression  out  of  a 
novel,  because  it  did  not  fit  in  with  most  of 
her  talk.  But  let  me  see  now  what  I  can  tell 
you  about  her!" 

She  paused  with  a  little  air  of  retrospection, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  161 

which  gave  Sebastian  an  opportunity  to  study 
the  well-cut  profile  of  that  face  which  had  an 
ever-growing  charm  for  him. 

"She  was,  I  think,  about  forty  years  of  age, 
perhaps  more, — it  is  hard  to  judge  of  age.  She 
had  travelled  a  good  deal  upon  this  continent; 
and,  though  she  was  reticent  about  her  ante 
cedents,  I  gathered  from  some  expressions  she 
let  drop  that  her  mother  had  been  perhaps  an 
actress.  She  had  no  very  extensive  education, 
still  she  was  a  devourer  of  novels  of  the  paper- 
cover  class.  And  when  she  was  not  reading 
she  used  to  sit  sometimes  silent  and  gloomy 
in  a  corner,  and  fix  her  eyes  upon  me  till  every 
nerve  in  my  body  quivered.  I  don't  know  why 
I  was  afraid  of  her  at  such  times,  as  she  was 
never  violent  nor  even  particularly  ill-tempered, 
and  she  usually  treated  me  with  great  civility. 
But  I  was  afraid  of  her  heavy,  sombre  eyes  and 
the  lowering  expression  of  her  face,  that  made 
me  fancy  she  might  be  meditating  some 
injury  to. me.  Of  course  it  was  only  because  I 
was  young  and  fanciful;  but  often  in  the 
night,  when  I  heard  her  come  out  of  her  room 
and  go  stealing  about  the  house,  I  used  to 
tremble,  and  I  always  kept  my  door  locked." 

Sebastian  was  listening  with  absorbing  in 
terest,  which  no  doubt  had  something  to  do 
with  the  personality  of  the  narrator;  and, 
moreover,  by  a  curious  train  of  reasoning,  he 
remembered  that  one  memorable  night  in  his 
own  experience  when  he  had  felt  himself  almost 


1 62  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

confronted  by  an  impalpable  presence,  so 
strongly  had  his  sensitive  organism  been  affected 
by  a  story  of  the  past. 

"Once,"  said  Dorothy,  "she  remarked  upon 
the  fact  that  my  door  was  locked;  and  that 
frightened  me  more  than  ever,  for  I  knew  she 
had  been  trying  it.  'You  child,'  she  said, 
'you'll  be  burned  in  your  bed,  first  thing  you 
know,  if  you  lock  yourself  up  like  that.  And  I 
might  want  you,  besides.  It  is  in  the  night 
and  the  darkness  that  I  may  have  most  need 
of  a  companion.'  I  remember  that  1  murmured 
something,  I  scarcely  knew  what;  and  she 
came  close  to  me,  in  a  way  she  had,  and  said 
in  her  deep,  solemn  voice:  'If  it's  of  me  you're 
afraid,  you  needn't  be.  I  won't  hurt  you.'  I 
explained  that  I  felt  more  secure  with  my  door 
locked,  and  that  I  sometimes  feared  robbers 
might  get  in.  Then  she  said:  'You  child,  to 
be  afraid  of  robbers!  Now,  I'm  not  afraid  of 
any  one.  But  keep  your  door  locked,  if  you've 
a  mind  to." 

Here  Dorothy  paused,  and  drew  a  deep 
breath. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  went  on,  "I  never 
could  feel  comfortable  again  in  keeping  my 
door  locked?  What  she  had  said  about  wanting 
a  companion  in  the  night — I  suppose  she  meant 
when  her  dark  moods  came  upon  her — made 
me  feel  that  in  shutting  her  out,  I  wasn't 
fulfilling  my  contract.  So  I  left  the  door  open, 
and  after  that  I  scarcely  ever  had  a  good 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  163 

night's  sleep.  1  was  always  expecting  to  see 
her  standing  beside  my  bed,  and  1  wanted  to 
be  awake  when  that  happened.  At  last  she 
came.  I  woke  from  an  uneasy  dose,  to  find 
her  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  She  was 
looking  down  at  me  with  that  look  which 
frightened  me  even  in  the  daytime.  And  she 
said:  'I'm  a  miserable  old  woman.  My  money 
is  nearly  gone.  I'll  never  get  any  more,  and 
then  I'll  starve.  Do  you  hear,  you  child?  I'll 
starve.'  I  didn't  know  what  to  answer,  so  I 
was  silent.  And  then  she  began  to  get  angry, 
and  said:  'Why  don't  you  speak?  Why  do 
you  lie  there  and  stare  at  me  ? ' ' 

There  Dorothy  paused  again;  for  she  did 
not  want  to  finish  that  sentence,  and  to  repeat 
how  the  woman  had  said:  "If  I  had  had  eyes 
like  those,  I  might  have  married  a  rich  man, 
as  the  girls  do  in  stories."  Passing  over  that 
part  of  her  narrative,  Dorothy  continued: 

"She  came  then  and  sat  down  close  beside 
my  bed.  When  I  tried  to  sit  up  she  forced  me 
back.  'Lie  there,'  she  said,  'and  listen,  if  you 
have  nothing  to  say.'  So  I  lay  upon  my  pillow, 
with  my  face  turned  toward  her,  gazing  at 
her  while  she  went  on: 

:'Ever  since  my  mother  died — and  that's 
a  good  many  years  ago — I've  been  looking  for 
something — something  that  I'll  never  find  now, 
when  I'm  old  and  getting  helpless.' 

"But  what  is  it?'  I  said.  'Perhaps  I  could 
help  you  to  find  it.' 


1 64  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"'No,  you  couldn't!'  she  cried.  'What  do 
you  know  about  such  things?' 

'"About  what  things?'  I  asked;  for  by  that 
time  I  wasn't  quite  so  much  afraid  of  her. 

'"'Hold  your  tongue!'  she  said.  'If  I  had 
found  that,  I  would  have  been  rich — as  rich 
as  a  Jew,  mother  told  me.  But  she  would 
never  help  me,  and  that's  why  I  hate  her, 
living  or  dead. ' 

"  '  Hate  your  mother ! '  I  exclaimed.  And  then 
she  again  bade  me  to  keep  quiet. 

'"She  wouldn't  tell  me,'  she  repeated;  'and 
without  her  help  I  could  never  find  it.' 

"I  was  afraid  to  ask  her  what,  and  she 
went  on  wandering  about  it,  while  I  was  think 
ing  of  buried  treasures  and  of  some  lost  mine 
in  the  mountains  of  the  gold-bearing  State. 
Then  she  began  to  wring  her  hands,  and  to 
moan  and  sob,  and  stare  at  me  with  her  heavy 
eyes,  that  gave  me  a  feeling  as  if  she  were 
going  to  spring." 

"My  God!"  said  Sebastian,  intensely  moved 
by  the  recital.  "It  was  awful!  To  think  of 
your  being  in  such  danger!" 

His  tone  may  have  conveyed  more  than  he 
intended;  for  Dorothy,  with  a  slight  heighten 
ing  of  color,  turned  her  face  a  little  more 
away. 

"It    was    awful,"    said    Dorothy.      "I    was 

.    afraid  she  had  gone  mad,  or  might  go  mad  at 

any    moment.     And    remember   there    was    no 

light  in  the  room  except  a  glimmer  that  came 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  165 

in  from  the  hall,  and  the  moonlight,  that  made 
her  face  look  ghastly." 

"'If  I  don't  find  it  soon,— very  soon,'  she 
said,  'I'll  be  a  pauper,  and  I'll  have  to  go  to 
an  almshouse  to  die,  and  they'll  bury  me  in 
the  Potter's  Field.' 

"I  tried  to  say  that  surely  she  had  enough 
to  keep  her  away  from  those  dreadful  alterna 
tives.  But  she  put  her  hand  over  my  mouth 
as  if  she  would  choke  me,  and  exclaimed: 

'What  do  you  know  about  it?    Your  voice 
is  like  a  babbling  brook!' 

"Then  she  got  quiet  again,  and  I  could  hear 
nothing  in  that  terrible  silence  but  the  stream 
rushing  down  the  mountain,  and  the  note  of 
some  night  bird  in  the  thick  trees  outside.  I 
never  in  my  life  was  so  thankful  as  when  the 
first  white  light  began  to  come  in  at  the  window. 
I  was  afraid  for  a  time  that  it  was  still  the 
moonlight,  and  I  was  delighted  when  I  could 
see  objects  in  the  room,  and  knew  that  it  was 
really  dawn.  As  soon  as  she  saw  the  light 
she  got  up  and  went  away;  and  I  lay  thinking 
how  I  should  escape  from  the  place,  or  how  I 
could  endure  another  night.  At  breakfast 
she  asked  my  pardon  for  having  disturbed 
me,  and  she  ordered  me  to  lock  my  door  again. 
'Lock  me  out,'  she  said;  'that  is  the  only  way 
to  do.  And  even  if  I  knock,  don't  pay  any 
attention.' ' 

"Why,"  cried  Sebastian,  with  all  the  vehe 
mence  of  a  man  in  love  who  sees  the  beloved 


1 66  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

object  threatened  by  danger,  "you  should  have 
left  there  the  very  next  day!" 

"That  was  almost  impossible  at  the  time," 
said  Dorothy.  "In  the  first  place,  I  had  no 
money,  since  my  month's  salary  was  not  due 
for  a  week;  in  the  second  place,  I  was  afraid 
to  tell  her  that  I  meant  to  go,  not  knowing 
what  effect  it  might  have  upon  her,  or  what 
she  might  do;  in  the  third  place—  '  Dorothy 
began;  but  she  ended  with  a  laugh,  saying: 
' '  It  sounds  too  much  like  a  catalogue  or  a 
fairy  tale." 

"But  I  should  like  to  hear  about  the  third 
place,"  replied  Sebastian,  in  a  tone  that  in 
dicated  he  was  fast  throwing  prudence  to  the 
winds. 

"Oh,"  said  Dorothy,  "it  was  only  that  I 
had  an  odd  sort  of  feeling  I  should  stay  in 
that  sinking  ship,  and  not  leave  it  alone  in 
that  wild  place,  in  helplessness  and  despair!" 

"But  was  there  no  servant — no  one  at  all?" 

'There  was  a  deaf  old  woman,  who  did 
some  of  the  rough  work,  but  who  could  not  be, 
in  any  other  way,  of  the  least  service  to  her 
mistress.  I  did  not  tell  them  at  home  of  what 
was  going  on,  and  I  stayed  until,  in  a  fit  of 
restlessness,  Miss  Wallace  left  that  place  for 
San  Francisco.  We  were  then  in  the  centre 
of  a  crowded  quarter  of  the  city,  and  all  my 
terror  of  her  passed  away." 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Rollins,  who  had  been 
watching  the  progress  of  the  affair  with  amused 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  167 

and  gratified  interest,  came  over  to  tell  Sebas 
tian,  that  his  brother  Louis  wanted  him  to 
call  up  the  telephone  of  his  office  in  about  ten 
minutes.  Mrs.  Rollins,  having  given  the  mes 
sage,  took  herself  away  again;  and  Sebastian 
said: 

' '  Perhaps  I  shall  have  time  to  hear  the 
rest  of  your  singular  lady's  story." 

"It  will  keep  till  we  meet  again,"  said 
Dorothy;  "though  there  is  not  much  more  to 
tell." 

Sebastian  could  not  help  rejoicing  in  the 
hope  thus  extended  of  meeting  that  charming 
narrator  again  and  talking  confidentially  with 
her;  while  even  prudence  could  be  lulled  to 
repose  by  the  desire  on  his  part  to  hear  the 
sequel  of  a  life  history  that  so  powerfully 
interested  him.  For  he  saw  in  the  fate  of  this 
poor  creature  some  analogy  with  his  own. 
Both  were  seeking  the  thread  of  a  labyrinth; 
but  in  her  case  the  search  was  pursued  without 
money  or  resources  of  any  kind.  Something  in 
the  chivalry  of  Sebastian's  nature  made  him 
anxious  to  befriend  or  assist  in  some  way  that 
forlorn  member  of  the  human  brotherhood, 
whose  singularities  were  forgotten  in  the  appeal 
she  made  to  his  heart. 

"I  heard  Mrs.  Rollins  say,"  remarked  Dor 
othy,  "that  it  was  your  brother,  Dr.  Wilmot, 
who  wanted  you  at  the  phone.  Do  you  know 
I  have  met  him  more  than  once  since  I  saw 
you  last?  The  first  time  was  at  a  reception, 


1 68  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

and  the  second  was  when  he  came  to  call  at 
Mrs.  Rollins'." 

Somehow,  this  intelligence  smote  upon  Se 
bastian  with  the  force  of  a  blow.  What  if 
Louis,  strong,  masterful,  likely  to  get  what  he 
wanted,  sympathetic,  too,  when  he  chose, 
should,  in  his  ignorance,  press  straightforward 
to  that  goal  toward  which  he  himself,  with 
his  fatal  knowledge,  dared  not  advance!  There 
was  keenest  anguish  in  the  thought.  Louis 
putting  forth  all  his  powers  to  win  this  girl, 
who,  if  won,  might  have  to  be  told  that  which 
might  dash  all  her  hopes  to  the  ground!  And 
what  hopes  might  she  not  build,  apart  from 
love  altogether,  upon  the  excellent  prospects 
of  this  skilful  and  popular  physician,  who  was 
certain  to  attain  eminence  in  his  profession, 
in  addition  to  the  wealth  he  had  inherited  from 
his  father!  Surely  here  would  be  a  tangle  of 
successive  and  complicated  miseries  for  all  con 
cerned!  And  for  himself,  in  those  few  moments 
he  knew,  past  all  peradventure,  that  were 
Dorothy  to  fix  her  affections  upon  another, 
whether  successfully  or  unsuccessfully,  it  would 
mean  an  intolerable,  unendurable  wretchedness 
to  which  he  could  not  look  forward  with  any 
thing  like  equanimity.  He  knew,  in  fact,  that 
he  had  added  to  his  other  torments  that  of 
an  apparently  hopeless  infatuation. 

There  was  nothing  that  he  would  not  have 
given  at  that  moment  to  be  able  to  go  forward 
and  win,  if  that  were  possible,  what  then  seemed 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  169 

to  be  the  one  desirable  object.  The  temptation 
came  strong  upon  him — almost  too  strong  to 
be  resisted — to  tell  the  girl  all,  and  to  say 
to  her:  "Do  these  things  matter?  Does  any 
thing  matter  except  what  you  are  to  me  and 
what  I  may  become  to  you?"  But  then  there 
uprose  before  his  mind  the  solemn  promise 
that  he  had  given — only  to  himself  and  to  the 
dead,  it  was  true — that  he  would  keep  silence. 
He  remembered  the  appeal  that  had  seemed 
to  issue  from  his  father's  dead  lips,  pleading 
for  indulgence,  and  that,  despite  his  offences, 
he  might  be  permitted  to  retain  the  love  and 
regard  of  those  who  had  been  the  chief  factors 
in  his  later  life. 

When  Dorothy,  surprised  at  her  companion's 
silence,  glanced  at  him,  she  saw  that  he  was 
pale,  with  great  beads  of  perspiration  standing 
upon  his  forehead.  In  his  eyes  was  a  look 
that  one  might  wear  who  had  in  sight  a  forlorn 
hope  which  he  was  preparing  to  lead.  It  was 
a  look  that  appealed  to  Dorothy  more  than  any 
language  could  have  done,  and  for  the  first 
time  caused  her  heart  to  beat  with  an  emotion 
that  was  not  merely  interest  nor  gratified 
vanity.  That  look  meant,  as  a  sudden  intuition 
told  her,  something  that  bordered  on  the 
heroic.  It  raised  this  wealthy  young  man  above 
the  commonplace  and  put  him  upon  a  plane 
where  she,  at  her  best,  might  reach  him.  If 
intuition  is  a  subtle  thing,  it  is  also  an  extremely 
powerful  thing;  and,  although  not  a  word 


1 7o  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

had  been  spoken,  the  acquaintance,  the  under 
standing  between  those  two  progressed  more 
than  it  might  have  done  in  years.  That  weary, 
strained  expression,  that  sudden  silence,  the 
forced  smile  upon  the  lips,  and  the  look 
which  she  had  read  aright,  and  which  said, 
"Come  what  may,  I  shall  be  faithful,"  stirred 
Dorothy  to  the  very  depths  of  her  nature. 
Though  of  course  she  could  not  have  formed 
the  remotest  conjecture  as  to  the  reason  for 
that  look,  she  realized  how  much  more  intense 
may  be  one's  own  power  of  believing  or  hoping 
or  loving,  or  those  of  any  one  near  at  hand, 
than  the  ordinary  circumstances  of  life  permit 
one  to  suppose.  It  was  with  an  effort  that 
she  found  herself  saying,  in  what  sounded  like 
her  usual  tone: 

"I  like  your  brother  immensely.  He  has  a 
strong,  clever  face,  and  he  is  so  bright  and 
unusual." 

"He  is  very  fortunate,"  said  Sebastian,  in 
a  tone  that  to  himself  sounded  stiff  and  un 
natural,  "in  having  won  your  good  opinion. 
There  are  some  men  who  would  do  anything 
to  gain  it." 

"Well,"  observed  Dorothy,  trying  to  speak 
lightly,  "I  sincerely  hope  that  you  are  amongst 
them." 

"You  know  that  I  am  amongst  them," 
replied  Sebastian,  gravely.  '  There  can  be  no 
doubt  in  your  mind  upon  that  subject." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  for  a  brief  moment. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  171 

More  luminously  than  ever  the  lamp  was  shining 
behind  them.  It  seemed  to  light  the  dark  places 
of  Sebastian's  soul  and  to  give  him  fresh  hope 
and  courage. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "had  you  not  better  go 
and  take  your  brother's  message?  It  might 
be  something  important." 

"Possibly,"  rejoined  Sebastian,  feeling  as  if 
there  could  be  nothing  of  the  smallest  im 
portance  except  Dorothy  and  whatsoever  con 
cerned  her.  He  rose,  however,  and  took  his 
way  to  the  phone.  When  he  had  got  Louis' 
number,  the  latter  said  to  him: 

"I  hope  I  haven't  disturbed  you  in  anything 
interesting,  but  I  just  wanted  to  know  if  you 
can  go  to  a  concert  to-morrow  night.  I  have 
asked  Mrs.  Rollins  and  her  guest,  Miss  Kent, 
whom,  of  course,  you  have  met.  She  is  very 
charming;  and,  as  you  are  a  squire  of  dames, 
perhaps  you  will  help  me  out  in  this  affair." 

Sebastian,  who  was  disturbed  by  a  variety 
of  emotions,  in  which  were  blended  a  jealous 
resentment  and  delight  at  the  prospect  of 
again  seeing  Dorothy,  accepted  the  invitation 
with  almost  involuntary  eagerness.  Louis, 
having  obtained  his  promise,  dismissed  the 
matter  with  his  customary  abruptness,  and 
turned  to  another  subject: 

"I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  too,  about 
Margie.  Perhaps  she  has  told  you.  I  know  a 
fellow  who  is  ambitious  of  becoming  our  brother- 
in-law." 

12 


172  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"All  right!  I'll  see  you  to-morrow  night," 
Sebastian  answered,  mechanically. 

He  hung  up  the  receiver,  and  stood  for  a 
moment  dumfounded.  Margie,  too!  There 
was  sadness  in  the  thought,  since  hitherto  she 
had  been  all  his  own.  And,  moreover,  here  was 
another  complexity.  It  reminded  him  how  the 
Fates  in  the  old  classical  dramas  used  to  wind 
their  meshes  about  some  human  life,  and  follow 
one  catastrophe  by  another  until  a  tragic 
climax  was  reached.  Should  he  have  to  break 
Margie's  heart,  supposing  that  this  aspirant 
for  her  hand  had  found  favor  with  her,  under 
the  same  cruel  weight  that  should  break  his 
own?  The  slight  resentment  that  at  another 
time  he  might  have  experienced,  that  Louis 
had  been  the  first  to  be  informed,  now  scarcely 
made  itself  felt  in  the  deeper  issues  at  stake. 
His  silence  was  to  be  as  a  wall,  dividing  him 
from  all  he  loved, — a  wall  that,  crumbling 
and  falling,  might  ultimately  destroy  the  struct 
ure  of  their  happiness. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  173 


XIII. 

IT  was  a  curious  coincidence  that  just  when 
Sebastian  had  abandoned  his  attitude  of  pru 
dence  to  the  extent  of  accepting  an  invitation 
to  Mrs.  Rollins',  of  conversing  confidentially 
with  Dorothy,  and  of  promising  to  make  one 
of  Louis'  party,  another  influence  was  being 
exerted  upon  the  affair, — an  influence  which 
was  sufficiently  powerful  to  change  Mrs.  Rollins' 
whole  attitude  toward  Sebastian,  at  least  in 
so  far  as  Dorothy  was  concerned. 

On  the  very  afternoon  following  the  dinner, 
she  had  received  a  visit  from  Mrs.  Alfred,  whom, 
apart  from  the  friendship  between  the  families, 
she  had  known  intimately  at  school;  so  that 
each  was  in  a  position  to  speak  freely  to  the 
other.  Mrs.  Alfred  had  brought  over  a  piece 
of  embroidery  as  a  pretext  for  a  confidential 
chat.  Her  few  preliminary  observations  were 
upon  dress,  upon  a  book  she  had  been  reading— 
for  she  prided  herself  in  keeping  up  with  current 
literature, — and  upon  some  gossip  relating  to 
one  or  other  of  their  acquaintances.  But  all 
the  time  she  was  watching  her  opportunity  to 
attain  the  object  which  had  brought  her  thither, 
and  to  burst  forth  upon  Sebastian,  who  had 
been,  indeed,  the  predominating  theme  of  his 


174  TH^  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

sister-in-law's  thoughts  for  some  time.  She 
had  never  felt  very  cordially  disposed  toward 
the  young  man,  who  occupied  so  commanding 
a  position  in  the  family  to  the  detriment,  as 
she  believed,  of  his  elder  brothers.  Her  own 
faculty  of  perception,  which  was  highly  de 
veloped,  informed  her  that  Sebastian  was  in 
reality  of  finer  mould,  of  a  higher  order  of 
intellect  than  even  the  clever  Louis;  and  of  a 
force  of  character  that  made  him  practically 
unassailable. 

This  consciousness  of  superiority  to  his  brother 
had  always  irritated  her;  but  it  had  reached  a 
species  of  climax  when  Sebastian,  in  addition 
to  the  headship  of  the  firm,  had  been  charged 
with  the  conduct  of  the  estate,  his  brothers 
acting  merely  in  an  advisory  capacity.  She  had 
been  intuitively  aware  also  of  Sebastian's  mental 
attitude  toward  Alfred,  whom  he  had  never 
disparaged  by  a  word.  So  that  she  had  grown 
to  feel  something  like  hatred  against  her 
younger  brother-in-law, — if  "hatred"  be  not 
too  dignified  a  term  for  jealous  irritation,  sus 
picion,  prejudice,  that  amounted  to  monomania. 

"I  believe,"  she  said,  "my  brother-in-law 
Sebastian  was  dining  with  you  yesterday 
evening." 

"Yes.  My  dear  Sebastian!"  cried  Mrs. 
Rollins,  enthusiastically.  "I  love  him  as  if  he 
were  my  own  brother — or  should  I  say  son  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Alfred  looked  smilingly  into  her  friend's 
face  as  she  spoke  thus,  and  said: 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  175 

"You  do  like  him?" 

"I  have  just  told  you  that  I  love  him,"  de 
clared  Mrs.  Rollins.  "He  is  the  best,  the 
kindest!  Even  his  faults  are  those  that  one 
can  admire." 

Mrs.  Alfred  was  still  smiling,  her  eyes  narrow 
ing  into  slits,  and  her  face  transformed  into  a 
mass  of  wrinkles. 

But  her  friend  stopped  suddenly  and  looked 
at  her. 

"You're  fond  of  him  too,  Caroline?"  she 
asked. 

"The  dear  boy!  I  suppose  I  really  am,  in 
spite  of  everything." 

"'In  spite  of  everything'?"  echoed  Mrs. 
Rollins. 

"Oh,  yes!  I  suppose  I  should  be  as  enthu 
siastic  as  anybody  else,  but  I  have  been  en 
dowed  with  such  a  fatal  gift  of  perception! 
It  really  is  a  curse.  It  acts  like  a  microscope, 
and  makes  me  see  all  kinds  of  flaws  where 
others  see  pure  crystal." 

"Perhaps  you  look  at  too  close  range,  as 
family  critics  are  apt  to  do,"  said  Mrs.  Rollins. 
"But  certainly  you  surprise  me." 

"At  first  I  was  surprised  myself,"  replied 
Mrs.  Alfred.  "But,  really,  since  his  father's 
death  I  have  been  sadly  disappointed  in 
Sebastian." 

"In  what  way?"  inquired  Mrs.  Rollins, 
gravely. 

"In  every  way,  Mabel.    He  has  opposed  his 


176  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

mother  in  almost  everything  she  wants  to  do. 
He  has  assumed  such  a  high-handed  manner 
about  everything!  He  wants  to  keep  the 
business  in  his  own  hands  and  to  push  his 
brothers  aside.  Louis  doesn't  care,  he  is  so 
taken  up  with  his  profession;  but  Alfred  feels 
it  keenly.  Sebastian  is  almost  insolent  to  him 
when  he  takes  the  trouble  of  going  down  to 
the  office,  which  he  feels  obliged  to  do  every 
day;  for  he  knows  very  well  that  otherwise 
things  would  go  to  the  dogs.  A  man  so  young 
as  Sebastian  could  never  manage  such  a  concern. 
He  is  no  more  capable  of  keeping  it  going  than 
I  am." 

Emotion  overcame  her,  and  she  stopped 
abruptly.  Here  was  a  revelation  of  the  tempest 
that  was  raging  in  the  Wilmot  connection,  where 
all  had  seemed  so  serene.  Up  to  this  point, 
Mrs.  Rollins'  sympathy  had  been  largely  on 
the  side  of  her  favorite;  for,  being  a  shrewd 
and  capable  woman,  she  was  inclined  to  think 
that  there  was  a  clear  case  of  jealousy,  which 
in  families,  as  elsewhere,  so  often  makes  the 
various  members  insensible  to  merit  or  to 
excellence  of  character. 

But  Mrs.  Alfred,  seeing  that  she  did  not 
prevail,  and  carried  away  by  the  force  of  her 
own  feelings,  went  further  than  she  had  in 
tended;  for  it  is  a  melancholy  truth  that 
many  a  reputation  is  bartered  away  for  no 
more  solid  reason  than  the  heat  of  an  argument. 
Never  before  since  her  marriage  had  Mrs. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  177 

Alfred  thrown  off  her  smiling  mask  in  presence 
even  of  so  intimate  a  friend  as  Mrs.  Rollins. 
The  latter,  watching  her,  remembered  how  as 
a  schoolgirl,  on  two  or  three  occasions,  this 
Caroline  had  suddenly  displayed  paroxysms  of 
spiteful  fury. 

' '  I  am  going  to  speak  plainly  now, ' '  she  said ; 
"and  you  must  believe,  Mabel,  that  I  should 
never  have  done  it  only  for  something  that  I 
heard,  quite  by  chance,  on  the  street  this 
morning." 

"What  was  that?"  Mrs.  Rollins  inquired 
dryly. 

"It  was  that  Sebastian  had  paid  marked 
attention  yesterday  evening  to  that  charming 
little  Miss  Kent.  She  is  such  a  dear!" 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Rollins,  in  the  same  tone, 
"if  that  were  the  case,  what  then?" 

"Ah,  nothing  at  all!"  replied  Mrs.  Alfred. 
' '  For  there  is  not  the  slightest  danger  of  such 
an  affair  going  further  on  Sebastian's  part. 
He  is  far  too  cautious  and  cold-blooded  to 
permit  himself  to  think  matrimonially  of  a 
poor  girl,  and  one  without  definite  position." 

"Dorothy  Kent,"  said  Mrs.  Rollins,  with 
considerable  heat,  "is  my  personal  friend,  and 
belongs  to  an  excellent  Southern  family!  Nor 
does  she  require  in  the  least  to  sue  for  any 
man's  favor." 

"There,  there!"  cried  Mrs.  Alfred,  in  her 
softest  and  most  conciliatory  voice.  "I  might 
have  known  you  would  be  annoyed  with  me,  I 


1 78  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

am  such  a  blunderer.  But,  my  dearest  Mabel, 
if  I  have  spoken  so  plainly — and  you  must  let 
me  speak  more  plainly  still, — it  is  because, 
that  under  the  circumstances,  I  feel  it  my  duty 
to  let  you  know." 

"Let  me  know  what,  Caroline?  In  heaven's 
name,  what  is  it  you  are  driving  at?" 

"Sebastian,"  said  Mrs.  Alfred,  speaking  de 
liberately  and  ignoring  her  friend's  impatient 
tone,  "has  been  acting  in  the  most  extraor 
dinary  fashion  since  his  father's  death.  He  is 
mysterious,  secretive,  starts  if  he  is  spoken  to 
suddenly,  and — but,  before  I  go  further,  I 
really  think  I  must  swear  you  to  secrecy,  as 
we  used  to  do  at  school." 

"If  by  that  you  mean  that  I  am  not  to 
repeat  to  the  family  what  you  have  said," 
answered  Mrs.  Rollins,  "you  can  depend  upon 
my  discretion.  If  in  any  other  way  I  should 
see  fit  to  make  use  of  the  knowledge  you  may 
impart  to  me,  well,  you  must  take  the  risk." 

Mrs.  Alfred  considered.  She  knew  perfectly 
well  that  what  Mrs.  Rollins  meant  was  that 
she  should  warn  Dorothy  Kent,  if  she  thought 
the  occasion  demanded.  And,  since  that  was 
precisely  what  the  mischief-maker  was  anxious 
that  she  should  do,  she  tacitly  agreed  to  the 
condition. 

"I  can  rely  on  you  to  do  what  is  right,"  she 
said;  "and  so  I  shall  speak  out.  For  I  can't 
talk  to  his  mother  about  Sebastian.  Until 
lately  he  was  faultless  in  her  eyes.  Margie  is 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  179 

fairly  blinded  by  him;  and  Louis  is  so  rude 
that  I  hold  as  little  communication  with  him 
as  possible.  It  is  always  difficult  for  people- 
in-law  to  speak  out  frankly;  but,  as  you  see, 
in  my  case  the  difficulties  are  increased  tenfold." 

"Well,"  observed  Mrs.  Rollins,  "it  is  always 
hard  for  an  outsider,  no  matter  how  intimate, 
to  judge  of  any  one;  but  I  must  say  that 
I  have  always  had  the  highest  opinion  of 
Sebastian." 

"So  has  every  one  who  does  not  know," 
returned  Mrs.  Alfred.  "So  had  I  when  I  first 
married  into  the  family,  and  even  for  some 
time  after.  His  father,  no  doubt,  kept  him 
in  check;  for  it  is  only  since  his  death  that 
Sebastian  has  begun  to  show  what,  I  fear,  is 
his  real  character." 

She  paused;  but,  her  listener  remaining 
silent,  presently  pursued  her  narrative, — speak 
ing  rapidly  now,  and  as  if  with  a  fear  of  being 
interrupted  before  she  should  have  time  to 
finish.  Two  red  spots  burned  upon  her  cheeks, 
and  her  eyes  fairly  flashed  fire,  while  her 
sibilant  voice  proceeded: 

"He  has  given  up  his  church,  and  you  know 
what  that  means  to  a  Catholic." 

Mrs.  Rollins  looked  concerned;  for,  though 
not  a  Catholic  herself,  her  experience  at  the 
convent  had  given  her  some  idea  of  how  sig 
nificant  was  such  a  circumstance. 

"And  I  am  afraid,  to  tell  the  truth,"  said 
Mrs.  Alfred,  "that  Sebastian,  cautious  as  he 


i8o  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

is,  has  been  betrayed  into  a  secret  marriage  or 
some  other  low  connection." 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  cried  Mrs.  Rollins.  "I 
will  never  believe  any  such  thing  about 
Sebastian." 

"I  was  like  you,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Alfred,  lower 
ing  her  eyes,  "until  a  circumstance — I  will 
admit  it  was  nothing  more  than  a  slip  of  paper 
which  Sebastian  dropped  from  his  pocket- 
made  me  fear  the  worst.  I  can't  say  more,  and 
perhaps  I  have  said  too  much,"  she  added, 
rising  and  folding  her  work  preparatory  to 
departure.  "But  1  wanted  to  put  you  on  your 
guard." 

"  It  was  quite  unnecessary,"  said  Mrs.  Rollins. 
"And  I  am  heartily  sorry  to  hear  such  things 
about  Sebastian." 

"Most  of  our  idols  have  feet  of  clay,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Alfred,  adjusting  her  becoming 
little  toque  at  the  glass.  "Human  nature  is 
disappointing." 

She  kissed  her  friend  and  wrent  away  home 
ward,  mingling  on  Fifth  Avenue  with  the  stream 
of  beauty  and  fashion,  and  restored  to  all  her 
ordinary  calmness  and  composure.  That  ebulli 
tion  of  spite  had  wonderfully  relieved  her.  For, 
though  the  venom  of  envy  and  bitterness  had 
been  boiling  and  seething  within  her,  she  had 
not  deemed  it  prudent  to  talk  so  freely  even 
to  Alfred.  Any  twinges  of  conscience  that  she 
might  have  felt  in  shaking  Mrs.  Rollins'  faith 
in  Sebastian,  and  possibly  interfering  with  som 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  181 

cherished  plan  of  his  own,  were  set  at  rest  by 
her  complacent  reflection  that  if  the  accusation 
were  true,  she  had  saved  the  girl;  if  false,  she 
had  saved  Sebastian  from  making  a  fool  of 
himself  with  a  penniless  companion.  Such  an 
alliance  would  not  do  at  all  for  the  head  of  the 
house  of  Wilmot.  It  would  reflect  discredit  on 
them  all.  But  strongest  of  all  within  her  was  a 
feeling  which,  perhaps,  she  scarcely  acknowl 
edged  to  herself.  This  was  the  gratification  of 
the  instinctive  cruelty  of  her  nature,  which 
made  her  rejoice  in  returning  Sebastian  evil 
for  the  imaginary  injury  he  had  done  Alfred 
and  herself. 

Mrs.  Rollins,  left  alone,  indulged  in  no  very 
agreeable  reflections.  Despite  her  confident 
assurance  to  Mrs.  Alfred  that  her  warning  had 
been  unnecessary,  she  was  not  so  positive  that 
harm  had  not  been  already  done.  She  herself, 
too,  had  cherished  golden  visions  for  Dorothy, 
and  had  begun  to  feel  quite  elated  by  the 
prospect  that  those  hopes  might  be  realized. 
She  had  been  greatly  encouraged  by  the  de 
meanor  of  Sebastian  upon  the  previous  evening. 
Therefore,  she  was  not  at  all  grateful  to  her 
whilom  friend  for  the  warning,  and  could  not 
forgive  her  for  having  destroyed  those  bright 
castles  in  the  air  that  had  been  occupying  her 
mind  all  day.  Nor  could  she  as  yet  persuade 
herself  that  the  accusation  was  altogether 
true.  But  she  was  determined  that  she  would 
act  upon  it  to  the  extent  of  cautioning  Dorothy, 


i82  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

and  of  striving,  if  possible,  to  undo  what  had 
been  imprudently  done.  She  could  not  well 
break  up  the  party  that  had  been  arranged  for 
that  evening;  but  she  promised  herself  that  it 
should  be  Louis,  and  not  Sebastian  who  would 
act  as  escort  to  the  girl,  and  that  any  further 
intimacy  between  the  two  should  be  resolutely 
checked. 

When  Dorothy  came  in  that  afternoon,  more 
bright  and  cheerful  even  than  usual,  and  full 
of  her  own  pleasant  thoughts,  in  which  Sebas 
tian  Wilmot  had  a  share,  she  was  a  good  deal 
surprised  to  be  invited  by  Mrs.  Rollins  to  a 
conference.  That  lady's  tone  portended  some 
thing — Dorothy  scarcely  knew  what.  The  girl 
seated  herself  in  silence,  waiting,  and  hardly 
interrupting  the  pleasant  anticipations  of  the 
evening  that  were  filling  her  mind. 

"My  dear  Dorothy,"  said  Mrs.  Rollins,  "you 
are  one  of  the  most  sensible  girls  I  have  ever 
met." 

"Well,"  said  Dorothy,  with  a  grimace,  "that 
is  not  always  the  highest  compliment;  but  I 
suppose  in  this  case  I  may  accept  it  as  such." 

'You  appear,"  went  on  the  elder  woman, 
"disposed  to  be  friendly  with  Sebastian 
Wilmot?" 

Dorothy  was  vexed  when  the  telltale  color 
flew  to  her  face,  and  she  asked  herself  impa 
tiently  why  the  sudden  mention  of  that  name 
should  occasion  such  a  result. 
J'l  am  sorry,"  continued  Mrs.  Rollins,  without 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  183 

waiting  for  any  answer,  "but  I  am  afraid  I 
can  not  permit  of  any  further  intimacy." 

Dorothy  was  naturally  astonished,  being  well 
aware  of  the  long-standing  friendship  between 
the  two  families  of  Wilmot  and  Rollins.  Nor 
had  she  been  altogether  oblivious  of  Mrs. 
Rollins'  rather  obvious  desire  to  throw  her 
into  Sebastian's  company.  She  had  even  heard 
her  employer  praise  the  young  man  inordinately. 

"Why,  what  has  this  poor  Mr.  Sebastian 
Wilmot  done?"  she  inquired,  finding  her  voice 
again,  and  trying  to  speak  lightly. 

"From  what  I  have  lately  heard,"  said  Mrs. 
Rollins,  "there  appears  to  be  some  mystery 
about  himself  or  his  way  of  acting,  which 
prevents  him  from  being  a  desirable  acquaint 
ance  for  a  girl." 

"A  mystery!"  cried  Dorothy.  "Oh,  how 
perfectly  charming!" 

"Its  charm  may  not  be  of  the  stuff  that  is 
wholesome  for  girls,"  answered  Mrs.  Rollins, 
severely. 

"But  it  lends  him  so  much  more  interest," 
said  Dorothy.  "It  takes  away  the  crude  flavor 
of  the  counting-house.  You  really  should  not 
have  told  me,  if  you  wished  to  disenchant 
me." 

There  was  a  pause,  broken  at  length  by 
Dorothy,  who  said,  still  in  the  same  half- 
laughing  tone: 

"And  are  we  still  going  to  the  concert  party 
to-night?" 


1 84  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"Of  course,"  responded  Mrs.  Rollins,  im 
patiently.  "It  could  not  be  broken  up." 

"And  must  I  be  prefectly  silent  and  not 
speak  to  this  walking  mystery?" 

"Don't  be  absurd!"  cried  Mrs.  Rollins.  "You 
will  act  just  the  same  as  usual, — only  there  are 
many  ways  by  which  a  girl  can  let  a  man 
know  that  she  desires  nothing  further  than  the 
merest  acquaintance  with  him." 

"Oh,  yes!"  answered  Dorothy.  "I  can  easily 
let  him  or  any  one  else  know  that." 

"Very  well,  then.  We  need  say  nothing 
more  upon  the  subject." 

"But  I  think,"  said  Dorothy,  straightening 
up  her  little  figure,  while  her  mobile  face  was 
alive  with  some  generous  emotion, — "I  think 
there  is  this  much  more  to  be  said,  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned:  while  I  do  not  know  Mr.  Se 
bastian  Wilmot  very  well,  I  refuse  to  believe 
anything  seriously  to  his  discredit." 

Mrs.  Rollins  smiled.  She  liked  Dorothy  none 
the  less  for  this  advocacy.  It  was  just  like  the 
generous,  loyal  soul  that  she  was.  But  the 
very  fineness  of  her  nature  was  another  reason 
why  she  must  be  protected  from  whatever 
might  mean  future  pain  or  injury  of  any  sort. 
Above  all,  she  must  form  no  unfortunate  attach 
ment.  And  Mrs.  Rollins,  in  reflecting  upon  the 
matter,  had  come  more  and  more  to  the  con 
clusion  that  affairs  must  be  serious  indeed  when 
Mrs.  Alfred  had  overstepped  her  habitual 
caution,  and  betrayed  a  family  secret. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  185 

"You  will  do  well,"  she  said,  "to  take  my 
advice.  I  have  your  welfare  at  heart,  and  I 
know  the  world  as  you  could  not  possibly 
know  it." 

"  I  know  enough,"  cried  Dorothy,  stoutly,  "to 
feel  sure  that  Sebastian  Wilmot  is  all  that  is 
good  and  honorable." 

"If  that  be  so — and  I  sincerely  wish  I  could 
still  agree  with  you, — a  little  judicious  reserve 
on  your  part  can  do  no  harm.  Follow  my  advice 
for  the  present;  and  while  you  are  under  my 
control  receive  no  visits  from  him,  nor  in  any 
other  way  permit  the  acquaintanceship  to 
grow  into  intimacy." 

' '  May  I  tell  him  that  this  is  your  wish  ? ' ' 
asked  Dorothy. 

'You  have  my  full  permission,  if  you  think 
it  necessary,"  was  Mrs.  Rollins'  reply.  But 
there  was  a  slight  coldness  in  her  tone.  She 
would  have  preferred  that  her  young  charge 
should  accept  her  decision  without  demur. 

To  Dorothy,  here  was  a  new  and  startling 
condition  of  affairs,  which  bade  fair  to  destroy 
in  the  most  ruthless  manner  her  anticipations— 
at  least  of  an  acquaintance  that  should  be 
pleasant,  to  say  nothing  of  certain  other  hopes 
that,  in  her  sensitive  pride  and  maidenliness, 
she  would  scarcely  as  yet  admit  to  herself. 
She  was  filled  with  a  burning  indignation 
against  some  person  or  persons  unknown,  with 
whom  she  would  like  to  have  done  battle.  It 
was  only  on  going  into  Mrs.  Rollins'  sitting- 


1 86  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

room,  where  the  guest  of  the  afternoon  had 
been  conversing,  that  a  new  light  dawned  upon 
Dorothy.  She  noticed  the  lingering  odor  of  a 
peculiarly  powerful  perfume  which  Mrs.  Alfred 
had  been  using,  and  surmised  that  she  had 
been  there.  She  remembered  the  opinions 
which  even  the  gentle  Margie  had  expressed 
concerning  her  sister-in-law,  and  she  said  bitterly 
to  herself :  ' '  The  serpent  has  been  here  and  has 
left  its  evil  trail!" 

But,  since  Mrs.  Rollins  had  not  thought 
proper  to  say  anything  about  her  informant, 
Dorothy  imitated  her  reserve.  It  made  her 
more  determined,  however,  to  allow  no  preju 
dice  of  any  kind  to  take  lodgement  in  her  mind 
against  Margie  Wilmot's  favorite  brother.  "I 
will  obey  Mrs.  Rollins,"  she  said,  "of  course, 
while  I  am  under  her  care.  But  I  shall  frankly 
explain  to  Mr.  Wilmot  the  reason  why." 

The  party  to  the  concert  was  so  arranged 
that  Sebastian  sat  beside  Mrs.  Rollins,  and  Dr. 
Louis  was  told  off,  as  it  were  by  the  chaperone, 
to  escort  Dorothy.  The  two  walked  in  front, 
on  the  way  to  the  cars,  and  in  the  concert  hall 
he  was  placed  on  one  side  of  her  and  kept  her 
engaged  in  talk.  So  that  it  was  not  until  rather 
late,  in  a  lull  of  the  performance,  that  Sebastian 
at  last  found  an  opportunity  for  a  brief  con 
versation  with  Dorothy.  By  an  almost  involun 
tary  impulse,  he  reverted  to  the  subject  which 
he  had  found  so  interesting. 

"I  wanted  to  ask  you,"  he  said,   "if  your 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  187 

eccentric    lady  had    always   lived   out  West?" 

Dorothy  was  surprised  by  the  inquiry,  but 
she  answered  quite  readily: 

"Oh,  I  think  she  was  born  somewhere  in 
New  England ! ' ' 

"In  New  England?"  repeated  Sebastian,  half 
startled;  thinking  that  here  again  was  a 
coincidence.  "And  did  you  ever  solve  her 
mystery  ? ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Dorothy,  "in  one  sense  I  did. 
She  told  me  what  it  was  she  had  been  so  long 
seeking.  But  in  another  sense  I  never  did, 
since  she  had  not  solved  it  herself." 

:'That  is  to  say,  she  had  not  discovered  the 
object  of  her  search?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Dorothy,  "that  is  what  I 
mean.  And  I  think  I  ought  to  explain  that 
I  should  not  have  been  talking  about  her 
affairs  at  all,  only  that  she  hoped,  and  I  agreed 
with  her  in  hoping,  that  by  giving  them  some 
publicity  she  might  gain  the  object  she  had 
in  view." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Sebastian,  "there  is  no 
indiscretion  in  asking  what  it  was  she  wanted 
to  find  out." 

"No,  there  is  no  indiscretion,"  answered 
Dorothy;  "in  fact,  I  thought  of  asking  your 
advice.  For  though  I  gave  up  my  position 
with  her,  I  am  still  interested  and  I  promised 
her  to  help  if  I  could." 

"If  I  can  be  of  the  least  assistance,"  said 
Sebastian,  thinking  of  his  own  ill  success  in 


13 


1 88  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

a  matter  he  had  so  closely  at  heart,  "of  course 
I  shall  be  only  too  glad." 

"Then  I  may  begin  by  telling  you  that  the 
object  of  her  search  was  to  find  her  father." 

'To  find  her  father?"  echoed  Sebastian, 
startled  almost  beyond  self-control  by  this 
announcement,  which  he  had  not  expected. 

"Yes.  Isn't  it  extraordinary?"  said  Dorothy. 
"You  see,  she  had  lived  with  her  mother  until 
the  latter 's  death." 

"So  her  mother  is  really  dead,  then?"  re 
marked  Sebastian. 

Dorothy  stared. 

"Oh,  yes,  she  has  been  dead  a  great  many 
years!  I  think,  as  I  told  you  last  night,  that 
the  mother  belonged  to  some  theatrical  com 
pany,  and  she  used  to  take  her  daughter  with 
her  from  town  to  town,  far  out  in  the  West. 
At  last  some  one  left  her  a  little  money,  and 
she  abandoned  the  stage,— dying,  however, 
soon  afterward." 

"But  during  all  that  time,"  inquired  Sebas 
tian,  "where  was  the  father?" 

"That  was  something  which  either  the 
mother  did  not  know  or  she  chose  to  keep 
to  herself.  You  see,  she  had  voluntarily  left 
her  husband,  because  as  she  said,  they  could 
not  agree,  and  she  had  come  to  hate  him. 
She  must  have  been  a  strange,  undisciplined 
sort  of  person;  but  I  suppose  she  had  never 
been  taught  any  better.  My  employer  believed 
that  she  had  changed  her  name  to  avoid  any 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  189 

risk  of  discovery;  and  she  never  would  play 
in  the  New  England  town  where  she  had  been 
married,  nor  in  New  York.  Perhaps  she  sus 
pected  that  her  husband  was  there.  She 
always  spoke  of  him  as  'that  man,'  or  'your 
father,'  my  employer  said;  and  never  men 
tioned  his  name.  Isn't  it  a  strange  romance 
of  real  life?"  Dorothy  concluded. 

"Yes,   very  strange,"  said  Sebastian. 

"Though  I  suppose,"  answered  Dorothy, 
putting  her  head  on  one  side,  with  her  little 
ruminative  air,  "such  things  do  often  happen, 
especially  in  the  great  cities." 

"Very  probably  they  do,"  said  Sebastian, 
his  breath  coming  thick  and  short.  The  co 
incidence — if  coincidence  it  were — was  being 
pressed  home  too  close.  He  sat  staring  straight 
in  front  of  him  with  eyes  that  saw  nothing. 

"I  felt  so  sorry  for  the  poor  soul,"  said 
Dorothy,  "that,  although  my  mother  insisted 
upon  my  leaving  her,  one  of  my  hopes  in 
coming  to  Mrs.  Rollins  was  that  I  might  be 
able  to  help  her.  But  in  this  big  New  York 
it  is  like  looking  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack." 

"It  is  worse  even  than  that,"  said  Sebastian, 
in  a  tone  that  caused  Dorothy  to  turn  and 
look  at  him.  He  was  deadly  pale,  and  his 
eyes  had  a  strained  look  of  terror  or  some 
other  powerful  emotion. 

It  was  then  that  for  the  first  time  the  thought 
flashed  into  the  girl's  mind  of  what  she  had 
momentarily  forgotten — Mrs.  Rollins'  warning 


190  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

and  her  hint  that  there  might  be  a  mystery 
in  this  young  man's  life.  What  else  could  have 
made  him  look  like  that?  Then  an  expression 
of  relief  crossed  her  face,  and  she  broke,  without 
apparent  reason,  into  a  little  tinkling  laugh. 
Sebastian  always  thought  it  one  of  the  prettiest 
things  about  her;  and  even  in  that  moment 
it  thrilled  him  with  an  acute  sense  of  pleasure, 
surmounting  all  his  pain.  With  that  laugh,  as 
with  some  wholesome  touch  of  light  on  a 
dark  place,  came  back  Dorothy's  generous 
belief  that  the  man  beside  her  could  not  be 
connected  with  anything  discreditable.  And 
such  belief,  proceeding  from  intuition,  is,  even 
in  the  most  inexperienced,  far  more  often 
right  than  the  belief  that  is  painfully  worked 
out  by  reason. 

"I  should  like,"  said  Sebastian,  speaking  at 
last,  "to  help  you  in  this  matter.  I  have  the 
deepest  sympathy  for  that  poor  woman;  and, 
besides,  there  is  always  something  satisfactory 
in  the  solution  of  a  mystery." 

"Yes,"    answered    Dorothy;      "I    feel    that 
way,  too.     But  it  will  be  splendid  if  you  are 
really  willing  to  take  an  interest  in  the  matter,— 
you  have   so   many  ways   of  helping   at   your 
command." 

"I  suppose  I  have,"  said  Sebastian;  "though 
I  think  these  mysteries  often  come  to  light 
of  themselves,  apart  from  anything  that  any 
one  can  do.  It  is  on  the  same  principle  as  the 
old  axiom  that  murder  will  out." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  191 

"Well,  if  you  help  it  to  come  out,"  continued 
Dorothy,  "you  will  be  like  those  knight-errants 
of  old,  who  took  up  the  cause  of  ladies  in  dis 
tress;  and  then  you  will  be  ever  so  much 
obliging  me." 

It  was  on  Sebastian's  lips  to  say:  "And  I 
would  do  anything  to  oblige  you."  But  he 
restrained  himself  by  a  mighty  effort.  That 
was  the  peril  he  felt  in  association  with  her,— 
this  constant  impulse  to  speak  words  which 
were  better  left  unsaid;  and  to  express  senti 
ments  that,  uttered,  would  have  given  the 
greatest  joy;  but,  repressed,  hurt  him  cruelly. 

"I  should  like,"  he  said,  in  a  quiet,  even 
voice  that  gave  no  evidence  of  these  conflicting 
emotions,  "to  have  some  information  concern 
ing  this  man, — some  description,  for  instance, 
of  his  personal  appearance." 

"I  can  do  better  than  that,"  replied  Dorothy: 
"I  can  give  you  a  photograph  of  him." 

Sebastian's  heart  gave  a  leap.  He  felt  him 
self  growing  cold  and  hot  by  turns. 

"It  was  taken,  of  course,  when  the  man  was 
very  young;  and  is,  besides,  faded  a  good  deal 
by  time.  But  still  it  would  be  a  clue." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Sebastian,  in  a  low  voice, 
"it  would  certainly  be  a  clue." 

' '  I  wanted  Miss  Wallace  to  put  it  into  the 
hands  of  the  police,"  Dorothy  added;  "but 
for  some  reason  or  other  she  would  never 
consent  to  that.  She  found  it  only  by  accident, 


i92  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

hidden  away  amongst  some  rubbish  in  a  trunk, 
long  after  her  mother's  death." 

"But   why,"    asked   Sebastian,    ''didn't   the 
mother  employ  the  knowledge  she  possessed,— 
why  didn't  she  try  to  find  this  man,  and  make 
him  at  least  support  the  daughter?" 

"But  that,"  said  Dorothy,  "was  exactly 
what  she  didn't  want  to  do.  That  was  why  her 
daughter  thought  she  changed  her  own  name. 
Though  she  was  a  mere  child  at  the  time,  she 
heard  her  mother  say  one  day  she  would  rather 
die  than  go  back  to  him  or  take  any  of  his 
money.  And  I  can  understand  that  feeling. 
Oh,  almost  any  woman  can  understand  it 
perfectly  well!" 

Sebastian  smiled;  for  he  knew  how  many 
women  there  were  who  would  have  promptly 
overruled  such  scruples  with  the  hope  of 
getting  money. 

"Well,"  said  Sebastian,  "you  must  let  me 
see  that  photograph." 

"I  will  give  it  to  you,"  answered  Dorothy, 
"if  you  will  promise  not  to  let  it  get  into  the 
hands  of  the  police,  at  least  until  no  other  hope 
remains.  In  that  case,  I  might  get  Miss  Wallace's 
permission  to  let  it  be  given  to  a  detective." 

Mrs.  Rollins,  who  had  been  all  this  time 
entertaining  Dr.  Louis,  and  casting  glances  of 
uneasy  reprehension  at  Dorothy,  finally  caught 
the  latter's  eye. 

"Oh,"  said  the  girl  suddenly  to  Sebastian, 
"I  shall  have  to  send  you  the  photograph. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  193 

"No,  nc,  don't  do  that  by  any  means!"  he 
answered  quickly.  "  Please  don't  on  any  account 
send  it  to  the  house.  I  will  come  and  get  it." 

"But  you  can't,"  said  Dorothy;  "for  I 
must  tell  you — it  is  better  to  be  frank — that 

j 

Mrs.  Rollins  has  asked  me  not  to  receive  you 
there  nor  elsewhere." 

Sebastian  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  stared 
at  her. 

"When,  may  I  ask,  was  this  warning  given?" 

"Just  before  dinner-time,  this  evening." 

"And  yet  you  are  here?" 

"She  said  that  could  not  be  avoided,  as  she 
had  promised  Dr.  Louis.  I  can  not  understand 
it  at  all;  for  I  thought  you  were  such  great 
friends." 

"Our  families  have  always  been,"  replied 
the  young  man. 

"And  you,  too!"  cried  Dorothy,  warmly.  "I 
often  heard  her  sing  your  praises." 

Sebastian  looked  thoughtful. 

"  It  is  something  she  has  heard,"  said  Dorothy. 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  tell  him 
that  Mrs.  Alfred  had  been  there  that  after 
noon.  She  restrained  herself,  from  a  scruple 
about  causing  dissension  in  families. 

"I  am  at  a  loss  to  think  what  it  can  be," 
said  Sebastian,  deliberately.  "Would  you 
mind  if  I  were  to  ask  her?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  answered  Dorothy.  "It 
might  be  the  wisest  thing  to  do.  But  I  am 
not  sure  that  she  will  speak.  I  fancy  she 


194  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

is  pledged  to  secrecy.  She  hinted  at  some 
mystery." 

' '  There  seem  to  be  mysteries  in  the  air, ' '  said 
Sebastian,  with  a  forced  smile. 

But  the  mention  of  that  word  had  determined 
him  not  to  question  Mrs.  Rollins  on  the  subject  ; 
for  he  was  chilled  by  a  sudden  fear  of  what 
some  one,  possibly  Mrs.  Alfred,  might,  in  some 
inexplainable  fashion,  have  found  out. 

"At  least,"  he  said,  "you  have  not  been 
appalled  by  it?" 

"I  am  not  a  very  credulous  mortal,"  rejoined 
Dorothy.  "I  am  not  a  Southern  for  nothing. 
And  you  know  one  of  our  qualities  is  loyalty 
to  a  friend." 

'Thank  you!"  said  Sebastian.  "Such  a 
quality  is  an  anchor  to  which  even  the  ship 
wrecked  may  cling." 

This  seemed  a  singular  expression,  Dorothy 
could  not  help  thinking,  for  a  young  man 
favored  in  every  respect  by  fortune.  But 
probably  he  was  using  it  merely  as  a  generality, 
with  no  particular  application. 

"I  think,"  continued  Sebastian,  "that,  after 
all,  I  shall  not  say  anything  to  Mrs.  Rollins, 
unless  she  speaks  to  me.  But  I  shall  make  a 
formal  dinner  call  at  her  house  and  ask  per 
mission  for  once  to  see  you.  That  will  be  with 
a  view  to  obtaining  the  photograph." 

He  was  thinking  that,  in  fact,  whatever  Mrs. 
Rollins'  motive  might  be  in  thus  suddenly 
changing  her  attitude  toward  him,  she  was 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  195 

right,  and  that  his  visits  to  Dorothy,  or  his 
intimacy  with  her,  had  better  come  to  an 
end. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Rollins  joined  in  the 
conversation,  and  made  it  general;  and  the 
next  performers  came  hurrying  onto  the  stage, 
the  orchestra  began  to  tune  up,  and  Sebastian 
had  no  further  opportunity  to  exchange  a 
word  with  Dorothy.  He  had  to  walk  home 
beside  Mrs.  Rollins,  through  the  streets  lighted 
to  the  brilliancy  of  day  by  the  electric  bulbs, 
which  seemed  to  dim  the  far-off  stars.  And, 
as  they  walked,  before  him  he  saw,  chatting 
and  laughing,  Dorothy  with  Louis.  A  strange 
sort  of  resignation  seized  upon  Sebastian  and 
seemed  to  steel  him  against  all  emotion.  If 
Louis  were  preferred,  at  least  by  Mrs.  Rollins, 
and  ultimately  perhaps  by  Dorothy,  there 
seemed  to  be  nothing  that  he  could  do  save 
to  accept  that  trial  with  all  the  rest  that  had 
come  upon  him. 

Mrs.  Rollins,  on  her  part,  felt  constrained 
and  awkward;  though  underneath  her  reserve 
with  her  late  favorite  there  was  a  certain 
sympathy  that  struggled  with  the  prejudice 
which  had  been  excited.  Had  Dorothy  been 
out  of  the  question,  she  would  have  given  but 
little  heed  to  what  had  been  said.  It  was 
solely  her  responsibility  toward  the  girl  that 
induced  her  to  adopt  a  prohibitive  attitude. 
As  for  Sebastian,  though  intensely  conscious 
of  her  new  demeanor  toward  him,  he  walked 


196  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

by  her  side,  keeping  up  the  conversation  by  a 
few  grave  and  quiet  commonplaces  until  her 
house  was  reached. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  197 


XIV. 

WHEN  the  concert  was  over  and  the  ladies 
left  at  home,  the  two  brothers  pursued  their 
way  through  the  clear  starlight,  under  the  blue 
dome  resplendent  with  constellations,  burning 
that  night  with  marvellous  brilliancy.  Louis 
had  suggested  that  Sebastian  should  come  home 
with  him,  to  talk  over  the  affair  of  Margie. 
Sebastian  had  agreed,  though  the  idea  filled 
him  with  perturbation.  For  what  could  he 
say,  what  explain  ?  It  seemed  to  him  impossible 
that  any  of  the  family  should  marry,  after  the 
knowledge  that  had  come  to  him  at  his  father's 
death, — unless,  indeed,  the  person  desiring  to 
contract  such  an  alliance  should  be  put  into 
possession  of  all  those  details,  with  what  result 
must  be  merely  conjectural. 

After  the  two  had  left  Broadway,  the  route 
led  chiefly  through  those  side  streets  that, 
quite  early  in  the  evening,  give  the  idea  of 
being  deserted;  for  the  rows  of  brown  stone 
houses,  standing  sombre  and  silent,  despite  a 
gayly  lighted  window  here  and  there,  giving 
glimpses  of  a  sumptuously  furnished  interior, 
mostly  throw  dark  shadows  around  them. 

Louis  noted  his  brother's  taciturnity,  which 


i98  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

was  part  of  the  singular  change  in  him  that 
everyone  had  been  remarking.  But  it  never 
occurred  to  Louis  to  try  to  solve  the  mystery. 
Questions  were  abhorrent  to  him,  except  when 
they  were  professionally  necessary;  and  even 
then  he  often  preferred  to  trust  to  his  own 
powers  of  observation.  And  of  all  things  in 
the  world  for  which  people  feel  grateful,  there 
are  times  when  reticence  must  rank  first. 

Louis  opened  his  door  with  a  latchkey,  and, 
turning  on  the  light  in  the  hall,  saw  to  his 
surprise  that  the  dining-room  was  also  lighted. 
Presently  he  heard  a  voice  from  there: 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Louis?" 

He  answered  by  appearing  at  the  door  of  the 
cheerful-looking  room,  wherein  stood  Rosanna, 
beaming  at  sight  of  the  two  brothers,  and 
nodding  genially. 

"I  thought  mebbe  Mr.  Sebastian  would  be 
comin'  home  with  you,"  she  said. 

"Thought-reading,"  replied  Louis, — "a  clear 
case  of  telepathy!" 

"Such  a  tease  as  you  are,  Mr.  Louis!  But 
I  made  a  cup  of  coffee  the  way  Mr.  Sebastian 
used  to  like  it." 

"Coffee!"  exclaimed  Louis.  "Why,  it's  as 
much  as  my  professional  reputation  is  worth 
to  let  any  one  drink  it  at  this  hour." 

"Barrin'  it  be  yourself,  that'll  be  none  the 
worse  for  a  cup  of  it.  I  just  put  it  on  a  few 
minutes  ago,  in  that  newfangled  machine  you've 
got,  that's  fit  to  spoil  it,  to  my  thinkin'." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  199 

"Shades  of  Mrs.  Alfred,"  said  Louis,  "who 
chose  that  percolator  for  me  herself!" 

"Them  that  likes  it  can  have  it,"  returned 
Rosanna.  "To  my  mind,  it's  more  bother 
than  it's  worth.  I  like  my  own  way  the  best; 
and,  if  I  do  say  it,  I  can  make  a  cup  of  coffee 
that'll  do  your  heart  good." 

"Louis  and  myself  can  testify  to  that,"  said 
Sebastian,  genially.  He  had  been  standing  while 
his  brother  talked,  looking  with  a  kindly  if 
somewhat  forced  smile  at  the  old  woman. 

"Indeed,  then,  you  can!"  said  Rosanna,  with 
a  chuckling  laugh.  "For  your  dear  mamma 
used  to  be  afeard  that  you'd  ruin  your  nerves 
drinkin'  the  coffee  I  used  to  make  for  you  on 
Sundays  and  holy  days.  I  well  remember  one 
St.  Patrick's  Day.  The  pair  of  you  had  been 
out  with  Miss  Margie,  lookin'  at  the  procession. 
A  bitter  cold  day  it  was;  for  I  went  with  you 
to  Fourteenth  Street,  where  you  stood  on  the 
steps  of  a  house.  I  was  that  frozen  I  had  to 
go  back  home.  And  down  I  went  to  the  kitchen 
and  made  a  pot  of  coffee,  though  the  cook  had 
like  to  eat  the  head  off  me  for  doin'  it;  and 
I  brought  it  up  and  served  it  to  you  in  the 
school-room  where  you  used  to  study  your 
lessons.  Your  mamma  came  in  after  a  while 
and  said:  'Now,  Rosanna,  don't  let  these 
children,  and  especially  Sebastian,  drink  too 
much  of  that  coffee.  It  will  destroy  their 
nerves.'  Then  you  spoke  up — I  mind  the  look 
of  you  as  if  it  were  yesterday :  '  Oh,  no,  mamma ! 


200  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

I  haven't  got  any  nerves.'  Your  mamma 
began  to  laugh,  and  she  said:  'Well,  I  suppose, 
as  it's  St.  Patrick's  Day,  and  you're  so  very 
cold,  I  can't  object.  But  put  plenty  of  cream 
in  it,  Rosanna.' ' 

The  old  woman  heartily  enjoyed  the  remi 
niscence,  the  while  she  poured  out  the  cups  for 
the  two  brothers. 

"This  is  splendid,"  said  Sebastian,  sitting 
down  and  tasting  the  beverage;  "though  I 
don't  think  it's  any  better  than  the  coffee  you 
used  to  make  for  us  long  ago." 

"That's  what  I  say,"  assented  the  old 
woman.  "Just  put  in  the  right  mixture,  and 
set  it  on  the  stove,  with  a  quick  boil;  a  few 
minutes  to  settle,  with  a  sup  of  cold  water,  and 
it's  ready.  Them  cookies,  Mr.  Sebastian,  were 
made  fresh  to-day." 

"  I  wish  Margie  were  here  to  taste  them,  too," 
said  Sebastian.  "Then  our  coffee  party  would 
be  complete." 

"And  just  as  it  used  to  be,"  murmured 
Rosanna,  with  a  sigh,  to  which  Sebastian 
narrowly  suppressed  a  responsive  one. 

He  had  been  longing  so  of  late  for  the  old, 
care-free  days,  when  the  brothers  and  sister 
had  enjoyed  Rosanna's  dainties.  And  he  now 
sat  opposite  his  brother,  in  luxurious  enjoy 
ment  not  only  of  the  refreshment  which  Rosanna 
had  provided,  but  of  the  moral  atmosphere 
about  him.  For  oftentimes  simple,  homely 
comfort,  and  simple,  homely  kindliness,  are 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  201 

the  best  sedatives  for  an  oppressed  spirit,  or 
for  one  weary  of  perpetual  struggle  and  strife. 

The  telephone  bell  in  Louis'  office  suddenly 
broke  upon  them  with  insistent  clamor  and 
jangle;  and  the  Doctor,  with  a  groan,  hastened 
away  to  answer  it.  Scarcely  had  he  gone  when 
Rosanna  bent  over  Sebastian's  shoulder  and 
whispered : 

"Did  you  ever  hear  tell  of  a  person  they  call 
Elmira?" 

Now,  if  she  had  aimed  a  pistol  at  Sebastian's 
head  he  could  not  have  been  more  startled. 

"Elmira?"  he  stammered, — "Elmira?  Who 
is  she?" 

The  old  woman,  noting  his  agitation,  re 
garded  him  gravely  and  with  a  touch  of 
apprehension. 

'That's  what  I  don't  know,"  she  declared; 
"but  there's  them  that's  got  that  name  on 
their  lips,  and  is  turnin'  it — God  forgive  them! — 
to  a  bad  use." 

"O  my  God,"  he  cried,  letting  his  over 
strained  feelings  pour  forth  in  a  veritable 
groan  of  anguish.  "And  what  can  I  do, — what 
can  I  do?" 

It  was  the  first  confession  of  weakness  that 
the  old  woman  had  heard  from  Sebastian,  at 
least  since  he  had  grown  to  manhood;  and, 
together  with  the  unmistakable  anguish  of 
the  tone,  it  impressed  her  deeply.  Nothing 
would  have  made  that  faithful  soul  believe 
evil  of  the  young  man;  but  something,  she 


202  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

felt  instinctively,  had  happened  to  cloud  that 
hitherto  sunlit  life. 

Rosanna's  hand  was  on  his  arm  with  kindly 
touch,  and  her  face  was  bent  still  closer  to 
him,  as  she  said: 

"My  poor  lamb!  There's  trouble  of  some 
kind  heavy  on  you,  and  there's  only  one  that 
you  can  tell  it  to  with  safety,  and  that's  the 
priest  of  God." 

She  paused  impressively,  while  Sebastian  let 
his  head  fall  upon  his  breast  in  a  movement  of 
hopeless  dejection. 

"Mind  what  I'm  tellin'  you!"  the  old  woman 
continued.     "It's  to  him  you  should  go  with 
your  troubles  and  trials,   be  what  they  may. 
And  take  his  advice,  instead  of  stayin'  away— 
as   I'm   heart   sorry   to   hear   you   are   doin'- 
from  the  altar  of  God  and  from  the  confessional. " 

"But,  Rosanna—  '  began  Sebastian. 

Fearing  that  Louis  would  return,  Rosanna 
hurried  on: 

"Yes,  a  sore  crush  it  was  to  me  to  hear 
that  you,  who  were  ever  and  always  Godfearin', 
should  give  up  goin'  to  church.  And  now  mark 
me!  It's  no  question  I'm  askin'  you,  for  it 
doesn't  concern  me  to  know.  But  I  bid  you 
to  be  on  your  guard  of  some  about  you,  and  to 
do  as  I'm  after  tellin'  you;  and  the  blessin'  of 
God  will  be  with  you,  and  help  you  out  of  the 
black  waters  of  sorrow  and  trouble." 

Sebastian  had  no  time  to  say  a  word;  for 
Louis  came  in,  explaining  that  it  had  been 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  203 

the  nurse  of  one  of  his  patients  who  was  asking 
some  special  instructions  for  the  night,  and 
congratulating  himself  that  he  had  not  to  go 
forth  again — just  then. 

Rosanna,  surmising,  perhaps,  that  the  two 
had  something  to  say  to  each  other,  declared 
that  it  was  time  for  her  to  retire,  since  she  had 
to  be  up  at  cockcrow  in  the  morning;  and, 
bidding  them  good-night,  she  departed. 

Sebastian,  to  whom  the  hint  dropped  by 
Rosanna  had  occasioned  a  new  and  acute 
perturbation,  was  by  this  time  master  of 
himself.  It  seemed  as  if  the  accumulated 
difficulties  that  were  gathering  around  him 
acted  as  a  stimulus.  He  would  meet  them 
boldly;  he  would  do  his  best,  and  resist  to  the 
utmost,  and  as  long  as  that  were  possible, 
all  pressure  brought  upon  him  to  break  the 
silence  which  he  had  both  implicitly  and  ex 
plicitly  promised  beside  his  dead  father.  That 
weakness  which  he  had  just  displayed  to 
Rosanna  must  not  be  repeated. 

As  an  aid  to  maintaining  his  outward  com 
posure,  he  lit  and  began  to  smoke  one  of  the 
cigars  which  Louis  had  pushed  toward  him; 
while  his  brother,  sitting  down  opposite,  did 
likewise. 

"As  I  was  telling  you,"  Louis  began,  "one 
of  my  colleagues,  Dr.  Dever,  who  is  at  present 
a  partner  of  Dr.  Home  Martin,  has  taken  a 
tremendous  fancy  to  Margie.  He  first  met  her 
here  last  winter,  and  then  he  was  down  at  the 


204  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

sea  that  time  before  father's  death.  He  was 
absent  after  that  for  some  time,  studying  on 
the  Continent;  but  since  he  came  home  they 
met  again,  while  she  was  away  with  Mrs. 
Rollins;  and  so  the  links  have  been  formed  in 
that  chain  of  sentiment." 

Sebastian  listened  in  silence,  his  outward 
demeanor  giving  no  clue  to  the  new  anxieties 
that  were  gathering  round  and  torturing  him 
interiorly. 

"I  am  telling  you  all  this,"  lyouis  said; 
"though  possibly  Margie  has  been  talking  to 
you  upon  the  subject." 

"No,"  replied  Sebastian,  "she  has  not  said 
a  word  to  me  about  any  such  matter.  She  would 
not  be  very  likely  to  do  so.  And  I  have  been 
unusually  busy  of  late— 

"Too  busy,  I  should  say!"  interjected  Louis, 
after  which,  there  was  a  pause. 

"To  my  mind,"  Louis  went  on,  "it  would  be 
a  good  thing  for  Margie.  Dever  is  in  all  respects 
a  fine  fellow.  He  is  a  Catholic,  of  course  (which 
would  weigh  with  Margie),  and  rising  in  his 
profession,  besides  having  some  private  means. 
And  Margie  herself  will  be  so  well  fixed  there 
will  be  no  need  to  wait  for  a  millionaire." 

Louis  stopped  again,  and  turned  for  en 
couragement  to  his  brother;  but  the  latter 's 
face,  as  he  looked  straight  in  front  of  him, 
seemed  white  and  set. 

"I  was  through  the  P.  and  S.  with  him," 
Louis  resumed,  thus  alluding  to  that  dignified 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  205 

and  venerable  body  of  the  College  of  Physicians 
and  Surgeons;  "and  I  can  assure  you  he  is 
just  the  sort  of  man  for  one's  sister  to  marry. 
And  Margie  is  deserving  of  the  best." 

Since  Louis  was  gazing  at  him  with  surprised 
inquiry,  Sebastian  at  last  broke  silence. 

"I  think,"  he  said  slowly,  "that  it  is  in 
advisable." 

"What  is  inadvisable?"  Louis  asked,  with 
some  irritation. 

"Any  question  of  marriage  for  Margie  just 
now." 

"And  how  far  will  that  'just  now'  extend?" 
Louis  inquired  sarcastically. 

The  query  gave  Sebastian,  more  than  any 
thing  else  could  have  done,  the  measure  of  his 
own  powerlessness ;  for  he  could  not  go  on 
opposing  people's  marriages  indefinitely.  He 
could  only  gain  time,  and,  like  the  traditional 
drowning  man,  grasp  at  straws. 

"I  mean,"  he  said,  "that  Margie  is  very 
young." 

"Girls  often  marry  at  the  age  of  twenty," 
answered  Louis;  "and,  though  she  might  wait, 
such  men  as  Dever  are  not  always  forthcoming, 
and,  to  my  mind,  not  lightly  to  be  put  aside." 

"I  know  all  that,"  said  Sebastian.  "But, 
somehow,  I  should  have  thought  that  perhaps 
Margie  was  cut  out  for  a  Sister  of  Charity,  or 
something." 

Louis  laughed. 

"That's  one  wTay  of  looking  at  the  matter, 


206  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

certainly,"  he  admitted;  "but  one  which  al 
together  concerns  Margie.  For  my  part,  1  like 
to  see  good  women,  occasionally,  stay  in  the 
world.  I  don't  know,  of  course,  whether  or 
no  she  has  given  the  Doctor  any  encouragement. 
Dever  was  reticent  on  that  point.  But  I  hope 
you  will  be  prepared  to  give  your  unqualified 
approval  to  the  affair." 

"My  approval  is  not  necessary,"  Sebastian 
said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"In  a  sense  it  is, — or  at  least  your  moral 
support.  For,  besides  the  position  you  occupy 
as  practically  the  head  of  the  family,  you  have 
always  had  great  influence  with  Margie." 

' '  I  should  rather  be  inclined  to  throw  any 
influence  I  might  have  into  the  opposite  scale." 

"Why?"  inquired  Louis. 

"Partly  for  the  reasons  I  have  mentioned." 

Louis  threw  his  cigar  with  an  impatient 
movement  upon  the  ash  tray,  and,  leaning  his 
arms  upon  the  table,  looked  fixedly  at  his 
brother. 

"If  one  like  Alfred,"  he  said,  "talked  that 
way,  I  should  know  what  to  think.  But  you 
will  have  to  give  me  some  very  much  better 
reason  for  opposing  this  marriage — if  oppose 
it  you  do." 

"I  can  give  no  other  reason,"  Sebastian  said 
firmly. 

"Then  I  shall  advise  Dever  to  go  ahead  and 
do  his  best  to  win;  and  Margie  will  be  quite 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  207 

justified  in  passing  you  and  your  opinions  by 
unheeded." 

"I  can  only  do  what  I  can  to  dissuade  her," 
said  Sebastian,  tranquilly;  his  voice  sounded 
almost  gentle  in  its  concentrated  effort  at 
calmness.  His  cigar,  which  had  burned  down, 
emitted  sufficient  smoke  partly  to  obscure  his 
face,  and  its  fiery-red  spark  burned  fiercely. 

"Then,"  said  Louis,  growing  heated,  and 
speaking  as  he  had  never  before  spoken  to 
Sebastian,  for  whose  capabilities  and  way  of 
acting  he  had  both  respect  and  admiration, 
"you  will  be  acting  like  a  fool!" 

"What  is  folly  and  what  is  wisdom?"  asked 
Sebastian,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with  a 
slight  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "Relative  terms, 
both  of  them." 

"It  will  be  worse  than  folly,"  continued 
Louis, — "it  will  be  criminal,  downright  wrong 
to  interfere  in  such  an  affair." 

"Once  again  I  might  ask,"  said  Sebastian, 
"what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong?  They  are 
not  always  at  opposite  ends  of  the  compass." 

"These  enigmatical  sentences,"  cried  Louis, 
"won't  help  matters  at  all!" 

"I  wish  I  knew  what  would  help!"  exclaimed 
Sebastian. 

"You  seem  to  be  adopting  some  new  attitude 
about  everything,"  declared  Louis,  impatiently. 
"Knowing  you  as  I  do,  I  don't  want  to  say  it 
is  a  pose." 

There   was   a   strained   smile   playing   about 


208  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Sebastian's  lips,  as  he  met  the  other's  gaze, 
that  made  the  physician  in  Louis  uneasy. 
"Could  it  be  the  mind?"  he  thought.  "For 
overwork,  overstrain,  plays  the  very  mischief 
with  fellows."  But  no:  the  expression  of  Sebas 
tian's  face,  the  strength  of  will  displayed  there, 
put  to  rest  his  brother's  momentary  misgivings. 
Neither  could  his  attitude,  he  thought — for 
instance,  in  regard  to  Margie, — have  any  rela 
tion  with  that  absence  from  church  which 
Rosanna  had  deplored,  nor  yet  that  at  which 
Mrs.  Alfred  had  hinted. 

"Margie,"  Louis  went  on,  calming  down  from 
his  late  tone  of  irritation,  "is  not  one  to  take 
up  an  inclination  lightly.  And  if  it  be  the 
case  that  she  favors  Dever — which  seems  proba 
ble,  since  the  Doctor  has  spoken  to  me, — it 
would  be  the  greatest  mistake  in  the  world  to 
thwart  her  inclinations." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Sebastian,  rising,  and  speaking 
in  that  same  deadly  quiet  tone  that  sounded 
as  if  it  came  from  a  distance, — "I  hope  you 
and  Dr.  Dever  are  mistaken,  and  that  Margie's 
affections  are  not  engaged." 

"Let  me  tell  you,"  said  Louis,  growing 
hot  again,  "that  they  can  never  be  better 
bestowed. ' ' 

But  Sebastian  waved  that  aside. 

"It  would  be  infinitely  better,"  he  said,  "if 
her  thoughts  turned  toward  the  convent." 

"Why,"  cried  Louis,  "your  reasoning  is 
enough  to  set  any  one  crazy!  Just  because 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  209 

she  is  your  petted  sister  you  want  to  shut 
her  up  in  a  convent!" 

"It  is  because,"  said  Sebastian,  suddenly 
resolving  to  trust  Louis  so  far,  "her  marriage 
would  entail  something  very  painful,  that  will 
have  to  be  done." 

Louis  stared  at  him,  with  once  more  a  dawn 
ing  fear  as  to  his  sanity. 

"And  what  about  your  own  marriage?"  he 
said  almost  involuntarily;  for  his  powers  of 
observation  had  not  been  idle  during  the 
intermissions  at  the  concert,  when  Sebastian 
and  Dorothy  Kent  had  been  in  conversation. 

Sebastian's  face  flushed,  and  then  slowly 
whitened  again. 

"My  marriage,"  he  said  with  deliberation, 
"so  far  as  I  can  see  now,  will  never  take  place." 

"Isn't  that  an  absurdity?"  Louis  exclaimed. 

But  he  was  already  beginning  to  feel  decidedly 
uncomfortable  for  having  thus  unwarrantably 
intruded  upon  his  brother's  private  affairs. 
And  he  was  convinced,  moreover,  that  there 
was  something — some  mystery— to  explain  all 
these  incongruities  in  the  conduct  of  Sebastian, 
who  had  hitherto  been  congruous,  consistent, 
and  above  all  reasonable,  in  his  thoughts  and 
mode  of  action. 

Sebastian,  however,  would  not  say  any  more; 
but,  taking  up  his  hat,  prepared  for  departure. 
At  the  door  Louis  remarked: 

"My  dear  fellow,  if  I  have  been  at  all  hasty 
in  any  of  my  expressions,  I  apologize." 


2io  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Sebastian,  looking  at  him  with  a  smile,  held 
out  his  hand. 

"I  know — I  understand,"  he  said;  "and  you 
and  I  certainly  have  Margie's  best  interests 
at  heart." 

When  he  found  himself  in  the  street,  he 
hurried  along,  walking  very  rapidly,  as  though 
that  phantom  thought  which  was  his  daily 
and  hourly  companion  were  pursuing  him. 
His  footsteps  sounded  unnaturally  loud,  he 
fancied,  in  the  deserted  streets;  and  he  started 
nervously  when  a  private  watchman,  lantern 
in  hand,  emerged  suddenly  from  one  of  the 
brown  stone  areas.  "I  am  getting  to  have  all 
the  marks  of  a  guilty  conscience,"  Sebastian 
murmured  to  himself.  "Before  all  is  done  I 
shall  pass  for  a  criminal."  He  continued  his 
rapid  pace,  still  feeling  that  the  engrossing 
thought,  which  had  become  almost  tangible 
and  material,  was  keeping  pace  with  him 
amongst  the  solemn  shadows  of  the  brown 
stone  houses  falling  across  the  pavements. 

At  his  own  door  he  stood  a  moment  and 
looked  out  upon  the  Park;  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  a  whole  generation  in  the  life  of  man 
must  have  elapsed  since  that  afternoon  when 
he  had  driven  home  from  the  office  with  his 
father,  and  had  stood  smiling  at  the  thoughts 
which  a  conversation  between  him  and  his 
late  parent  had  evoked. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  211 


XV. 

NEXT  day  Sebastian  nerved  himself  to  speak 
to  Margie  on  the  subject.  And  this  he  dreaded 
most  of  all;  for  the  very  thought  of  hurting 
her  in  any  way,  of  coming  between  her  and 
her  happiness,  was  painful  to  him  beyond 
words.  He  had  always  been  the  one  to  shield 
her  from  every  pain  and  trouble,  and  even 
discomfort  of  any  kind.  And  now  it  was  he 
who  must  bring  into  her  life  perhaps  the 
sharpest  trouble  she  had  ever  known,  or  so 
he  judged  from  his  own  recent  experience.  The 
brother  and  sister  had  not  had  a  confidential 
chat  for  some  time;  indeed,  Sebastian  was 
constantly  afraid  of  getting  on  confidential 
terms  with  any  one.  He  felt  the  unpleasant 
ness  of  his  task  the  more  acutely  because  he 
thought  he  had  noticed  in  Margie,  of  late,  a 
new  brightness  and  exhilaration.  Her  small 
and  delicately  formed  face,  which  when  in 
repose  had  been  quiet  almost  to  sadness,  had 
now  gained  both  color  and  animation.  Always 
mobile,  it  reflected  just  then  thoughts  that  were 
evidently  happy  ones. 

He  made  his  way  to  her  own  little  sitting- 
room,  where  she  usually  received  her  visitors, 


212  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

and  amongst  them,  as  Sebastian  reflected, 
Dorothy  Kent.  That  thought  arrested  him 
.  upon  the  threshold, — perhaps  she  might  be 
there.  But  no:  Margie  was  singing  to  herself, 
in  her  low  crooning  voice.  Evidently  she  was 
alone.  He  knocked  and  was  admitted.  It 
was  a  charming  room;  in  its  graceful  simplicity 
and  absence  of  superfluous  ornament,  entirely 
characteristic  of  Margie. 

"O  Sebastian!"  the  young  girl  said,  her  face 
flushing  with  pleasure  at  sight  of  her  brother. 
' '  I  am  so  glad !  I  so  seldom  see  you  now ! ' ' 

She  made  him  take  a  cushioned  armchair, 
into  which  he  sank  luxuriously;  for  he  had 
just  come  into  the  house. 

"This  is  comfort,  Margie!"  he  said.  "But 
you  have  a  genius  for  comfort, — one  of  the 
greatest  a  woman  can  possess.  I  am  always  so 
glad  to  get  away  from  down- town,  with  its 
endless  noise  and  struggle!" 

He  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment  in  enjoy 
ment  of  the  rest;  and  Margie's  loving  glance 
noted  how  much  thinner  and  paler  he  was 
looking. 

"  Is — is  business  going  on  well?  "  she  inquired. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Sebastian,  "famously!  But 
it  is  like  a  monster  swallowing  men  alive.  And 
the  bigger  it  grows,  the  more  of  us  does  it 
swallow." 

Before  his  mental  vision,  as  he  rested  for 
those  few  minutes,  loomed  the  huge  bales  of 
goods  filled  to  overflowing  with  costly  stuffs; 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  213 

and  he  seemed  to  hear,  through  the  silence,  the 
voices  of  the  various  employees  in  a  kind  of 
orderly  discord,  giving  or  receiving  orders,  and 
mingling  with  the  hum,  deepening  at  times 
into  a  roar,  of  the  thoroughfares  without.  In 
his  ears  sounded  again  the  many  voices  that  had 
spoken  to  him  in  his  office  or  at  the  telephone, 
whose  insistent  jangle  had  mingled  with  all  those 
other  noises.  What  moments  had  come  to  him 
that  day,  however,  both  within  and  without 
the  four  walls  of  that  building!  For  he,  at 
twenty-eight  years  of  age,  had  been  asked  to 
be  president  of  a  great  merger,  and  practically 
to  direct  the  destinies  of  several  firms,  in  every 
one  of  which  were  graybeards.  In  addition  to 
all  else,  Sebastian  had  had  a  visit  from  Alfred, 
who  had  been  particularly  annoying  and  sus 
picious;  and  had  not  only  sought  to  meddle 
with  those  vast  schemes  which  he  could  not 
understand,  but  had  harped  upon  family  matters, 
and  brought  into  the  order  of  the  business  office 
the  discord  that  had  crept  into  the  home. 

Sebastian  was  thinking,  as  he  rested  thus 
quietly,  without  interruption  from  restful  and 
tactful  Margie,  of  the  intolerable  boredom  of 
such  a  man,  and  of  all  that  he  had  said  and 
done.  He  had  asked  questions  of  the  clerks. 
He  had  nearly  driven  to  distraction  the  head 
bookkeeper,  a  man  of  worth  and  experience, 
and  had  got  roundly  snubbed  for  his  pains.  He 
had  interviewed  certain  customers,  and,  by  his 
clumsiness  and  the  hints  he  threw  out  as  to 


2i4  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Sebastian's  inefficiency,  had  very  nearly  per 
suaded  them  to  take  their  names  off  the  firm's 
books.  Some  of  this  retrospective  irritation 
Sebastian,  contrary  to  his  custom,  put  into 
words. 

"I'm  a  little  more  tired  than  usual  to-day," 
he  admitted.  "Alfred  was  down." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Margie,  with  a  gesture. 
She  was  sitting  on  a  low  stool  near  the  window, 
her  chin  resting  upon  her  hand.  "But  doesn't 
he  go  down  every  day?" 

"Well,  yes,  he  does;  but  usually  his  visits 
are  very  perfunctory.  To-day  he  was  the  lion 
rampant." 

"I  suppose  she  had  been  talking  to  him," 
said  Margie,  indignantly. 

"Possibly,"  continued  Sebastian.  "I  tried, 
in  any  case,  to  be  very  calm  and  philosophic. 
But,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh,  "I  am  afraid  if 
Louis  had  been  there  he  would  have  resorted 
to  drastic  measures.  I  saw  the  head  bookkeeper, 
Johnson,  who  is  invaluable  to  the  firm,  and  has 
to  be  treated  with  deference,  looking  at  the 
blue  shades  of  the  window  while  Alfred  was 
talking  to  him.  He  seemed  to  be  calculating 
the  height  of  that  window  from  the  ground. 
Desperate  measures  were  in  his  eye.  Alfred 
was  particularly  anxious,  amongst  other  things, 
to  get  from  him  the  list  of  my  personal  expendi 
ture.  I  came  up  behind  him  at  the  moment  and 
said:  'If  you  have  any  curiosity  on  that  score, 
Alfred,  you  need  not  trouble  this  busy  man, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  215 

who  has  more  than  he  can  do  just  now.  If  you 
come  into  my  office,  I  can  give  you  all  that  infor 
mation  in  five  minutes." 

"Wasn't  that  splendid?"  said  Margie.  "But 
did  he  not  seem  to  feel  ashamed?" 

"I  rather  think  he  did,"  Sebastian  replied. 
"He  murmured  some  kind  of  an  apology,  and 
he  unwillingly  accepted  my  invitation  to  the 
office,  looking  rather  red  and  hot.  I  insisted 
upon  jotting  down  for  him  everything  that  I 
have  spent  in  the  last  six  months.  He  protested 
more  than  once,  but  I  spared  him  none  of  the 
items.  And  I  wound  up  by  saying:  'You  may 
as  well  take  this  with  you.  I  know  Mrs.  Alfred 
will  be  interested. ' ' 

Sebastian's  eyes  were  full  of  a  half -humorous, 
half -angry  light  as  he  related  the  incident;  and 
Margie  laughed  outright. 

"I'm  glad  you  said  that,"  she  declared; 
"for  I  do  think  it  isn't  nearly  so  much  Alfred's 
fault  as  hers." 

"Poor  old  chap!"  agreed  Sebastian.  "Some 
times  I  feel  sorry  for  him.  He  is  so  terribly 
wife-ridden." 

"Yes,  poor  Alfred!"  said  Margie  the  soft 
hearted.  "I  remember  him,  before  he  was 
married,  as  the  big  brother.  He  was  good- 
natured  enough  then,  only  the  least  little  fussy 
and  irritating  at  times." 

Both  were  silent  for  a  time,  as  though  they 
had  exhausted  the  subject.  Margie  still  chin 
in  hand,  looked  out  over  the  square;  while 


216  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Sebastian,  watching  her  through  half-closed 
eyes,  wondered  how  he  should  broach  that 
painful  subject  and  say  the  disagreeable  things 
that  had  to  be  said. 

"Margie,"  he  resumed  at  last,  "Louis  was 
talking  to  me  the  other  night  about  an  admirer 
of  yours, — Dr.  Dever." 

Margie's  sensitive  face  was  overspread  with 
a  quick  blush. 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  said.  "You  have  not  met 
him  yet?" 

"No,"  rejoined  Sebastian;  "though  Louis 
tells  me  you  have  known  him  some  time." 

"I  met  him  that  summer  before  father's 
death,"  Margie  answered  simply.  "Then  he 
went  abroad  to  study,  and  I  did  not  see  him 
again  until  that  time  I  went  away  with  Mrs. 
Rollins." 

"So  far,  Louis  told  me,"  said  Sebastian;  "and 
perhaps  there  was  a  time  when  you  would 
have  told  me  yourself, — but  that  is  not  meant 
as  a  reproach." 

"Well,  you  see,"  explained  Margie,  "poor 
father's  death  put  everything  else  out  of  my 
head  for  a  time.  Then  there  was  nothing  par 
ticular  to  tell  until  a  few  weeks  ago.  And  you 
have  been  so  busy!" 

"Yes,"  said  Sebastian,  "I  know  it  was  my 
fault.  I  have  been,  as  you  say,  very  busy,  and 
my  mind  has  been  full  of  all  sorts  of  affairs. 
But  how  does  the  matter  stand  now?" 

"Gerald  Dever  has  asked  me  to  decide." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  217 

"So,"  said  Sebastian,  "it  has  gone  as  far  as 
that?  But  you  did  not  promise, — you  did  not 
give  him  any  definite  answer?" 

"No,"  answered  Margie,  though  she  was 
somewhat  surprised  at  that  observation.  "I 
told  him  I  must  have  time, — that  I  wanted 
to  be  quite  certain  of  myself." 

Sebastian  fell  back  in  his  chair  with  a  look 
of  relief. 

'That  is  right,  Margie,"  he  said.  "Take  as 
much  time  as  possible  to  make  up  your  mind. 
And  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  I  should 
be  exceedingly  glad  if  your  decision  was 
unfavorable." 

Margie  stared  open-mouthed  at  her  brother. 
What  could  he  possibly  mean?  What  could  be 
his  objection  to  Gerald  Dever,  whom  so  many 
people,  and  amongst  them  the  fastidious  L,ouis, 
was  lauding  to  the  skies? 

"But  why?"  she  asked  at  last. 

"I  can  not  tell  you,"  said  Sebastian;  "and, 
Margie,  you  must  not  ask — unless  the  necessity 
becomes  vital." 

As  the  brother  and  sister  then  sat  facing  each 
other,  it  seemed  to  Sebastian  as  if  it  were  a 
struggle  between  two  souls,  or  at  least  two 
hearts,  that  was  filling  those  few  seconds.  For, 
though  in  his  own  soul  the  struggle  had  seldom 
been  absent  since  that  revelation  of  his  father's, 
it  had  never  been  more  acute  than  at  the  present 
instant.  He  would  have  given  almost  anything 
to  be  able  to  enter  into  Margie's  sentiments,  and 


2i8  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

to  aid  her  by  every  means  in  his  power  to  the 
attainment  of  her  happiness.  He  felt  tempted 
as  he  had  never  before  been  tempted,  to  abandon 
the  too  difficult  duty  which  he  had  undertaken 
of  shielding  his  father's  memory.  For  why, 
after  all,  should  he  have  assumed  such  a  burden, 
which  seemed  likely  to  estrange  him  from  all 
those  whom  he  held  dear?  Why  should  he,  for 
instance,  allow  Margie  to  regard  him  as  a 
tyrant  who,  for  the  mere  semblance  of  authority, 
should  be  willing  to  stand  in  her  way,  or  un 
warrantably  to  interfere  with  whatever  path 
she  might  choose  to  follow?  Would  it  not  be 
better  to  make  known  what  he  had  discovered 
to  all  those  concerned,  save  perhaps  his  mother, 
and  to  let  them  deal  with  the  situation  as  each 
one  best  might? 

But  at  that  instant  the  closed  eyes,  the  set 
features  of  his  father,  more  pathetic  and  appeal 
ing  than  they  had  ever  been  in  life,  came  before 
him,  pleading  that  he  should  not  be  held  up 
to  scorn,  or,  as  it  might  be  in  Margie's  case,  to 
the  indulgent  pity  of  his  own  children.  And, 
moreover,  in  the  breaking  of  that  silence,  might 
he  not  inflict  upon  the  girl  beside  him  a  suffering 
keener  than  that  which  the  keeping  of  the 
secret  would  involve?  His  resolution  was  only 
strengthened  by  that  momentary  weakness. 
He  determined  that  he  would  keep  that  silence 
inviolate,  unless  circumstances  made  it  imper 
ative  upon  him  to  do  otherwise. 

And,  curiously  enough,  as  he  sat  there,  out 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  219 

of  the  whirl  and  tumult  of  his  thoughts  rose  the 
memory  of  an  afternoon  in  the  college  chapel, 
when  a  great  preacher  had  discoursed  to  the 
students  on  that  choice  between  the  right  and 
the  wrong  that  comes  to  every  child  of  Adam 
at  some  moment  in  his  career.  The  priest, 
though  appealing  to  reason  rather  than  to 
sentiment,  had  excited,  at  least  in  one  of  his 
hearers,  an  intense  enthusiasm.  Sebastian 
Wilmot  had  vowed  that,  come  what  might,  he 
would  accept  that  challenge,  and,  when  oppor 
tunity  offered,  fight  against  wrong,  in  what 
soever  form,  under  that  Leader  whom  the 
preacher  had  indicated. 

Since  that  time,  alas!  the  world  into  which 
he  had  so  early  plunged,  as  well  as  that  home 
where  religion,  for  most  of  its  inmates,  had 
been  but  a  secondary  matter,  and  the  great 
principles  by  which  conduct  is  controlled  but 
dimly  understood,  had  cooled  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  boy.  It  had  become  in  the  man  something 
like  apathy.  He  had  never,  indeed,  diverged 
to  any  notable  extent  from  the  straight  path; 
but  he  had  followed  it  languidly,  suffering  the 
end  whither  it  led  to  be  obscured.  Moreover, 
there  had  been  cases,  such  as  the  present,  when 
right  and  wrong  had  become  confused  and  almost 
interchangeable  terms.  So  it  had  happened 
that,  at  the  approach  of  the  great  trial  which 
had  called  for  all  his  force,  he  had  let  go  some 
of  his  main  defences  in  trying  to  bear  it ;  though 
he  was  quite  conscious  that  such  strength  as 


220  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

remained  to  him  had  been  derived  from  those 
first  resources. 

The  few  words  which  Rosanna  had  said  had 
poignantly  brought  home  to  him  all  that  he 
had  sacrificed  in  striving  to  be  true  to  his 
father's  memory.  He  had  realized  during  the 
long  hours  of  a  sleepless  night  how  far  he  had 
wandered  from  the  ideals  of  his  college  life, 
when  he  could  have  remained  away  from  church 
and  from  the  Sacraments;  and  for  a  fear 
which  might,  after  all,  have  but  little  founda 
tion  in  reality.  In  the  back  of  his  mind,  however, 
was  always  the  hope,  dim  and  unexpressed, 
that  something  would  turn  up,  through  the 
finding  of  that  long-missing  Elmira,  which 
should  put  everything  to  rights,  while  still 
leaving  inviolate  his  promise  of  silence;  after 
which,  he  told  himself,  he  would  return  to  his 
Father's  house  with  more  fervor  and  enthusiasm 
than  ever.  For  the  faith  that  had  remained 
so  strong  in  him  during  his  strange  defection 
had  been  in  itself  a  torment,  greater  perhaps 
than  all  the  others;  and  to  that  torment 
Rosanna's  words  had  added  a  fresh  pang. 

In  the  new  crisis  that  had  arisen  concerning 
Margie  and  her  future  prospects,  more  than 
ever  he  felt  the  need  of  a  wise  counsellor.  His 
thoughts  turned,  now,  as  they  had  done  so 
many  times  before,  to  the  old  priest  who  had 
come  with  the  welcome  intelligence  of  his 
father's  conversion.  Powerfully,  indeed,  did 
that  personality  appeal  to  him;  and  he  felt 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  221 

a  sudden  irresistible  desire  to  tell  him  all  and 
abide  by  his  advice.  But  so  strong  were  the 
imaginary  obstacles  to  this  straightforward 
course  that  he  could  not  decide  to  enter  there 
upon.  He  hovered  uncertainly  at  its  entrance; 
while  a  hundred  hands  seemed  outstretched 
to  hold  him  back,  and,  as  is  frequent  in  such 
cases,  to  prevent  him  from  pressing  onward 
to  peace. 

Margie,  who  felt  the  strange  constraint  that 
had  grown  up  between  this  once  absolutely 
congenial  brother  and  herself,  and  who  was 
surprised  and  deeply  wounded  by  the  few 
words  which  he  had  spoken,  sat  glancing  from 
time  to  time  at  the  tense  face  of  Sebastian,  with 
the  lines  that  had  been  carved  there  of  late, 
and  waited  until  he  spoke  again. 

"Margie,"  he  said,  "Louis  has  everything 
that  is  good  to  say  of  Dr.  Dever,  and  I  can 
take  his  word  for  that.  He  is  not  easily  pleased, 
and  even  less  easily  deceived.  So  only  one 
thing  I  am  hoping:  that,  since  worth  does  not 
always  win  feminine  recognition,  your  inclina 
tions  may  run  in  a  contrary  direction." 

He  felt  that  his  sentences  were  ponderous, 
involved,  and  absurd  in  their  conclusions. 
Margie  straightened  up  her  little  figure,  and 
there  was  a  gleam  in  the  soft  eyes  but  rarely 
seen  there. 

"That,"  she  said,  "is  a  matter  between 
Gerald  Dever  and  myself,  which  I  am  not  dis 
posed  to  discuss  with  any  one." 


222  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"And  you  are  right,"  said  Sebastian,  though 
there  was  a  new  look  of  pain  on  his  face,  since 
he  took  this  defiance  to  mean  that  the  hope 
he  had  just  expressed  was  futile.  "And  I 
wish  to  God  that  I  need  go  no  further,  instead 
of  being  forced  to  say  that,  in  my  judgment, 
there  are  grave  objections,  at  least  for  the 
present,  to  any  idea  of  your  marriage!" 

"Sebastian,"  cried  Margie,  "I  begin  to  think 
that  it  is  true  what  they  say  of  you:  that  you 
have  changed, — that  you  are  trying  to  rule 
everyone,  to  interfere  in  people's  concerns,  just 
because  father  left  you  in  charge  of  the  affairs ! ' ' 

Sebastian,  who  had  never  heard  her  speak 
so  to  him  before,  looked  at  her,  with  a  smile 
upon  his  lips  that  was  almost  ghastly,  as  he 
said: 

"Et  tu,  Brute!" 

Then  he  got  up  from  the  chair  where  all  this 
time  he  had  been  sitting. 

"I  think,"  he  replied  gently,  "there  is  no 
use  in  discussing  the  matter  further.  I  have 
said  all  that  I  can  say,  and  done  all  that  it  is 
in  my  power  to  do." 

As  Margie  remained  silent,  he  went  slowly 
out  of  the  room  and  into  the  seclusion  of  his 
own  apartment,  with  a  new  feeling  of  loneliness 
and  isolation.  Human  props  were  failing  fast, 
as  they  have  a  trick  of  doing, — even  those 
upon  which  the  heart  most  entirely  depends. 
He  sat  quite  still,  while  the  shadows  gathered 
round  him.  How  typical  they  were  of  the 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  223 

appalling  darkness  that  falls  at  times  upon 
the  human  soul, — a  kind  of  foreshadowing 
and  presentiment  of  that  final  darkness  into 
which  it  must  take  its  flight  alone!  And  that 
darkness  goes  down  into  the  innermost  depths, 
where  no  light  reaches. 

But  those  words,  the  tone  in  which  they 
were  uttered  no  less  than  the  look  by  which 
they  were  accompanied,  had  pierced  Margie 
to  the  depth  of  her  sensitive  little  heart  and 
filled  her  with  intolerable  self-reproach.  Sebas 
tian  could  not  tell  how  short  or  how  long  was 
the  interval  that  ensued  until  he  heard  a  step 
in  the  passage  outside  and  a  knocking  at  his 
door.  He  arose  at  once,  and  found  there  upon 
the  threshold  Margie,  with  a  sobbing  entreaty 
to  be  forgiven.  He  threw  the  door  wide  open, 
and  placed  a  chair  for  her,  upon  which  she 
would  not  sit  down  until  she  had  poured  forth 
what  was  in  her  heart!" 

"I  know  I  was  wrong,  Sebastian!"  she 
cried.  "I  am  perfectly  sure  that,  no  matter 
what  any  one  says,  you  are  trying  to  do  what 
you  think  is  best,  and  that  you  must  have 
strong  reasons  for  speaking  as  you  did  a  few 
moments  ago." 

Sebastian,  approaching,  laid  a  light,  caressing 
hand  upon  her  hair,  while  the  grieved  little 
face  looked  up  at  him  as  he  remembered  to 
have  seen  it  do  in  childhood. 

"Well,  Margie,"  he  said,  "perhaps  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  explain  to  you  how  much  those 


224  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

words,  and  your  trust  in  me — that  must  be 
so  hard  just  now, — mean  to  me.  God  knows 
I  need  them  sorely!" 

The  tears  began  to  fall  unbidden  from  the 
girl's  eyes  at  that  complaint,  the  first  she  had 
ever  heard  from  her  brother's  lips.  And  so 
the  pact  of  peace  and  good-will  that  had 
existed  so  many  years  between  brother  and 
sister  remained  unbroken,  and,  as  Margie  vowed 
to  herself,  should  always  so  remain,  whatever 
might  befall. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  225 


XVI. 

ALL  this  time  there  had  been  a  marked  es 
trangement  between  Sebastian  and  his  mother, 
especially  since  the  affair  of  the  house  had 
come  to  a  climax.  Alfred,  acting  with  her 
knowledge  and  consent,  and  strongly  impelled 
by  his  wife,  had  one  day  put  upon  the  front 
of  the  house  a  sign  with  the  words,  "For  Sale." 
When  Sebastian  came  home  in  the  afternoon 
he  saw  what  had  been  done.  His  annoyance 
was  beyond  bounds,  but  he  managed  to  subdue 
all  signs  of  it  before  he  went  into  the  living 
room,  where  his  mother  was  engaged  upon  a 
piece  of  embroidery.  It  was  a  large  apartment, 
comfortably  furnished,  abounding  in  easy-chairs; 
with  a  large  lounge,  a  desk  laden  with  maga 
zines  and  papers,  and  an  elaborate  table  of 
wicker,  beside  which  his  mother  was  working. 
Sebastian  addressed  her  in  that  tone  of  def 
erence,  even  of  tenderness,  which  he  always 
employed  to  her;  but  he  went  straight  to  the 
point. 

"I  see,"  he  said,  "that  a  sign  has  been  put 
upon  the  front  of  the  house." 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilmot,  concealing  the 
uneasiness  which  she  could  not  help  feeling: 


226  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"it  was  Alfred  who  had  it  put  there  this 
morning." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  said  Sebastian.  "And  may  I 
ask,  mother,  if  it  was  with  your  knowledge 
and  consent?" 

"Of  course,"  she  rejoined,  with  a  defiant 
flushing  of  her  cheeks.  "I  have  often  told 
you  that  I  think  this  house  should  be  sold,  so 
as  to  permit  us  to  move  into  another  more 
suitable.  And,  since  you  paid  no  attention  to 
my  wishes,  I  allowed  Alfred  to  act." 

"Since  Alfred  has  acted  with  your  approba 
tion,"  said  Sebastian,  firmly,  "I  am  more  sorry 
than  words  can  say.  But  I  shall  have  to  have 
that  board  taken  down.  This  house  is  not  for 
sale." 

The  blood  rushed  still  more  hotly  into  Mrs. 
Wilmot's  face,  and  her  eyes  flashed  fire. 

"Do  you  dare,"  she  said,  "to  countermand 
the  order  that  I  have  given,  and  to  set  yourself 
up  in  opposition  just  out  of  spite  against  your 
brother,  and  to  show  the  authority  which 
your  father  was  foolish  enough  to  place  in  your 
hands?" 

Sebastian  remained  mute,  taking  up  one  of 
the  magazines  from  the  desk  and  mechanically 
turning  over  its  pages.  He  himself  saw  how 
singular  seemed  his  attitude,  and  how  it  must 
appear  in  the  eyes  of  his  mother;  but  he  had 
no  resource.  She,  at  least,  must  never  be 
told  that  secret  which  affected  her  most  deeply 
of  all.  And  yet  the  terms  of  his  father's  last 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  227 

instructions  were  explicit;  that  the  house  in 
Gramercy  Park  should  not  be  sold,  nor  in  any 
way  alienated  from  the  estate,  until  the  mystery 
concerning  the  disappearance  of  Elmira  should 
be  cleared  up,  she  and  her  child  found,  and 
their  share  justly  apportioned.  It  seemed  as 
if  in  this  way  he  had  guarded  against  any 
possible  changes  or  disasters  to  the  business  of 
Wilmot  &  Co.,  which  might  render  forever 
impossible  that  act  of  expiation  which  lay  so 
heavily  upon  his  soul.  This  ultimatum  of  his 
had  been  contained  in  the  secret  instructions, 
which  Sebastian  could  not  show  to  any  one, 
thereby  aggravating  his  dilemma.  For  the 
will  had  merely  declared  that  the  Gramercy 
Park  property  could  be  sold  at  the  discretion 
of  the  youngest  son,  Sebastian,  and  at  such 
time  as  he  should  think  proper.  Sebastian 
heartily  wished  that  his  father  had  arranged 
it  in  some  other  way,  or  that  he  had  even 
permitted  him  to  put  aside  out  of  his  own  share 
a  sufficient  apportionment  for  the  missing 
wife  and  child. 

"You  have  turned  out  very  badly!"  cried 
the  mother,  angered  more  by  his  silence,  which 
she  knew  to  be  unrelenting,  than  she  would 
have  been  by  any  arguments.  "You  have 
proved  yourself  obstinate,  ungrateful,  unnatural, 
in  opposing  the  wishes  of  your  widowed  mother, 
who  has  been  unfortunate  enough  to  be  left 
in  your  hands.  I  can  never  forgive  you;  nor 
can  I  forgive  your  dead  father  for  the  wrong 


228  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

he  has  done  me  in  giving  you  control.  If, 
instead  of  giving  Alfred  merely  an  advisory 
voice  in  these  matters,  he  had  placed  things 
in  his  hands,  how  different  it  all  would  have 
been  for  me!" 

Sebastian's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  book; 
his  slight,  almost  boyish  figure  was  tense  and 
rigid;  while  upon  his  face  there  was  an  expres 
sion  of  suffering  that  might  well  have  touched 
a  harder  heart  than  that  of  Mrs.  Wilmot.  And 
it  would  certainly  have  touched  hers,  had  she 
not  been  carried  away  by  a  torrent  of  angry 
emotions  that  rendered  her  incapable  either 
of  noticing  anything  or  of  exercising  the  slightest 
self-control. 

Sebastian,  indeed,  was  surprised,  even  hu 
miliated,  as  her  language  became  more  violent. 
From  boyhood  upward,  her  sons  had  known 
her  chiefly  as  impulsively  good-natured,  emo 
tional,  and  generally  disposed  to  espouse  their 
cause  on  the  few  occasions  when  their  more 
domineering,  if  sluggish,  father  had  roused 
himself  to  unusual  severity.  And  Sebastian 
had  been  particularly  devoted  to  his  mother 
from  the  time  when,  as  a  small  boy,  he  had 
run  her  errands,  and  considered  it  his  greatest 
privilege  to  go  out  with  her  to  market  and 
elsewhere.  Her  chidings  had  usually  been  of 
a  very  passing  nature,  and  scarcely  ever  had 
she  carried  out  the  threats  of  punishment  into 
which  she  was  sometimes  led.  Her  disciplinary 
powers  had,  in  truth,  been  mostly  in  abeyance; 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  229 

and  her  children  had,  therefore,  come  to  con 
sider  her  as  an  epitome  of  easy  good  nature. 

To  Sebastian,  as  he  listened,  there  was  in 
the  torrent  of  words  which  his  mother  poured 
forth  a  suggestion  of  the  scoldings  of  his  child 
hood;  but  never  had  they  partaken  of  the 
intense  and  almost  malignant  bitterness  which 
now  characterized  her  speech.  It  was  evident 
that  this  was  not  only  the  outcome  of  wrath, 
which  had  been  long  seething  within  her,  but 
was  also  the  injected  venom  of  some  other 
nature. 

"Mother,  mother,"  he  cried  at  last,  rising 
from  where  he  sat  and  throwing  himself  on  his 
knees  beside  her,  with  something  of  the  old 
boyish  fervor,  "can't  you  see,  can't  you  feel, 
that  I  would  cut  off  my  right  hand  rather 
than  do  anything  of  my  own  accord  that  could 
displease  you?" 

The  mother,  though  somewhat  mollified  by 
this  address  and  the  manner  of  its  delivery, 
which  meant  much  from  one  usually  so  calm 
and  self-contained  as  Sebastian,  kept  her  face 
turned  away,  while  the  flush  of  anger  still 
burned  upon  her  cheeks  and  her  eyes  were 
aflame. 

"And  all  this  is  the  more  terrible,"  said 
Sebastian,  in  a  low,  concentrated  voice,  "that 
I  can  do  nothing, — that  I  am  forced  to  go 
on  opposing  you.  Even  in  this  matter  of  the 
sign  upon  the  house  it  is  my  duty  to  have  it 


23o  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

removed,  since  I  must  veto  any  attempt  at 
selling  the  property." 

"Then  get  out  of  my  sight!"  said  the  mother, 
furiously.  "And  neither  speak  to  me  nor 
attempt  to  hold  any  communication  with  me 
until  you  are  willing  to  comply  with  my  wishes." 

"That  must  be  as  you  will,  mother,"  answered 
the  young  man,  rising  slowly  to  his  feet  and 
standing  erect  before  her. 

"For  you  know  very  well,"  went  on  the 
mother,  "that  your  father  never  meant  me  to 
be  forced  to  live  anywhere  against  my  will." 

"Of  course  he  never  meant  that,"  said 
Sebastian ;  ' '  and  needless  for  me  to  repeat 
that  you  are  free  to  leave  this  house  to-morrow 
and  to  buy  or  rent  whatever  sort  of  a  house 
may  suit  you." 

"I  will  take  no  other  until  this  is  sold," 
replied  the  mother,  obstinately. 

'Then  I  am  sorry,"  said  Sebastian — "it  is 
useless  to  repeat  how  sorry, — but  it  can  not 
be  done  now." 

"Though  the  will  allowed  it  to  be  done  at 
your  discretion,"  sneered  the  mother. 

"The  will  was,  unfortunately,  not  the  only 
instruction  that  remained  to  me,"  said  Sebastian. 

"If  there  are  other  instructions,  why  not 
show  them  at  least  to  Alfred,  if  you  have  such 
a  contempt  for  feminine  judgment;  or  to 
Louis,  to  whom  your  rancor  does  not  seem  to 
extend?" 

"Since  those  instructions  were  for  me  alone, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  231 

I  can  not  show  them,"  answered  Sebastian; 
"but  I  can  assure  you  that  they  make  any 
discretionary  power  concerning  the  selling  of 
this  house  merely  nominal.  I  have,  in  fact, 
none." 

"We  have,  as  Caroline  was  saying  only 
yesterday,"  declared  Mrs.  Wilmot,  "altogether 
too  much  assertion  without  proof.  And  I  should 
be  in  favor  of  selling  this  house  and  defying 
you  to  do  your  worst." 

"But,  dear  mother,  it  can  not  be  done;  for 
the  wording  of  the  will  at  least  supports,  though 
vaguely,  the  precise  nature  of  my  instructions. 
And  I  beg  of  you  not  to  permit  yourself,  on 
the  advice  of  any  one,  to  do  what  is  rash  and 
what  would  be  disastrous  for  us  all." 

Afraid  that  he  might  say  too  much,  and 
aware  of  the  futility  of  further  argument, 
Sebastian  left  the  room;  and  with  firm  though 
reluctant  hand  he  removed  the  signboard  from 
the  house.  The  news  of  that  proceeding  was 
conveyed  to  Mrs.  Wilmot  by  Alfred  and  his 
wife,  who  paid  their  daily  visit  to  the  mansion 
just  in  time,  as  they  said,  to  catch  Sebastian 
in  the  act.  And  it  served  to  rekindle  anew  the 
mother's  anger,  which  had  temporarily  smould 
ered;  so  that  she  permitted  week  after  week 
to  elapse  and  gave  no  sign  of  relenting  toward 
her  youngest  son. 

Alfred  had  at  first  attempted  a  remonstrance. 

"I  think,  Sebastian,"  he  said,  "that  that 
was  a  most  unjustifiable  proceeding  of  yours 


232  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

to  remove   the   board  which   I   had   put   up." 

Sebastian  looked  at  him  quietly,  through 
half -shut  eyes. 

"Wasn't  it  the  least  bit  in  the  world  un 
justifiable  for  you  to  put  it  up  without  con 
sulting  me?" 

"I  fail  to  see,"  Alfred  began,  "why  I,  who 
am  your  senior  in  years,  and  of  some  legal 
standing,  should  be  obliged  to  submit  to  your 
dictation." 

"I  can  not  remember  at  this  moment,"  said 
Sebastian,  calmly,  "any  occasion  when  I  tried 
to  dictate  to  you  or  to  interfere  in  the  smallest 
particular  in  your  affairs." 

"Well,  then,  in  my  mother's  affairs,"  blustered 
Alfred,  working  himself  up  into  a  weak  man's 
irascibility.  "It  is  just  the  same." 

"Very  far  from  being  the  same,"  declared 
Sebastian,  "since  her  affairs  in  this  case  are 
inextricably  mixed  up — well,  let  us  say  with 
mine." 

'You're  an  impertinent,  officious,  bull-headed 
trampler  on  other  people's  rights! "  cried  Alfred, 
beginning  to  propel  his  plump  and  loose-hung 
person  about  the  room,  with  his  hands  behind 
his  back,  and  his  short  steps  that  gave  him 
a  curious  resemblance  to  an  enraged  gobbler. 

"Come,  come!"  said  Sebastian.  "This  is 
merely  childish.  My  personal  characteristics 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  Let  us 
descend  to  facts.  I  had  always  supposed  that 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  233 

legal  functionaries  were  great  upholders  of  the 
law." 

'They  see  the  advantages,"  admitted  Alfred, 
quieting  down  under  his  brother's  slightly 
contemptuous  calm,  "of  putting  things  on  a 
proper  legal  basis." 

"Exactly!"  agreed  Sebastian.  "And  the 
law,  I  suppose,  gives  a  man,  even  after  his 
death,  the  right  to  say  what  shall  be  done 
with  his  own  property?" 

"That  is  beside  the  question,"  said  the 
brother,  perceiving  whither  he  was  being  led. 

"Not  to  a  lawyer,  surely!"  exclaimed 
Sebastian. 

"The  point  under  dispute  here  is,"  went  on 
Alfred,  "that  at  the  suggestion,  or  at  least 
with  the  concurrence,  of  my  mother— 

"And  wife,"  put  in  Sebastian,  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye. 

"I  put  up  that  board  announcing  this  house 
for  sale.  It  was  my  right  to  do  so,  as  the  eldest 
son,  and  as  my  mother's  representative, — as 
my  wife,  indeed,  pointed  out  to  me." 

' '  Since  your  wife  does  not  share  the  advantage 
of  belonging  to  the  legal  fraternity,"  said 
Sebastian,  "she  might  very  easily  be  mistaken 
in  supporting  that  view  of  the  matter.  But 
you  must  be  perfectly  aware  that  you  put  up 
a  board  illegally,  which  I  took  down  legally." 

Alfred  stared. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  demanded. 

' '  Just  what  I  always  meant :    that  my  father, 


234  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

in  appointing  me  to  carry  out  his  wishes  implicit 
and  explicit,  conferred  upon  me  the  legal  right 
to  do  so." 

Sebastian's  voice  had  lost  its  half -jesting 
tone,  and  was  stern  and  incisive,  as  he  con 
tinued  : 

"I  have  acted  in  this  matter,  as  in  others, 
not  only  within  my  rights,  but  according  to 
the  plain  duty  imposed  upon  me.  I  am  deeply 
grieved  that  this  duty  should  run  counter  to 
the  wishes  of  mother,  but  I  warn  you  that  I 
will  tolerate  no  interference  from  any  others 
in  its  discharge." 

Alfred's  lip  quivered,  and  his  fat,  puffy  face 
showed  that  he  was  a  prey  to  strong  emotion, 
while  Sebastian  added : 

' '  I  would  be  truly  glad  if  your  legal  knowledge 
helped  you  to  put  an  end  to  a  state  of  affairs 
that  has  transformed  this  house  into — well,  to 
put  it  very  mildly,  a  debating  society." 

"I  wonder,"  spluttered  Alfred,  "what  father 
meant  by  making  me  an  adviser,  and,  as  you 
told  me  yourself,  regretting  in  his  last  conver 
sation  with  you  that  Louis  and  I  were  not  of 
the  firm." 

"All  that  is  true,"  said  Sebastian;  "and  it 
might  seem  arbitrary,  indeed,  to  put  aside 
your  advice  or  that  of  Louis  in  such  a  matter 
as  the  one  we  have  been  discussing,  save  for 
imperative  reasons  given  me  by  my  father, 
and  which  I  can  not  disregard." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  235 

"We  have  only  your  word  for  that,"  observed 
Alfred. 

"And  my  word  will  have  to  be  sufficient.  So 
I  think  we  may  as  well  regard  this  matter  as 
closed,  unless  some  unforeseen  contingency 
should  arise,  of  which  I  will  gladly  advise 
you." 

So  Alfred,  having  thus  gone  down  to  defeat, 
was  sufficiently  convinced  of  the  strength  of 
his  brother's  position  to  attempt  no  further 
move  toward  the  disposal  of  the  property. 
But  he  remained  upon  the  coolest  terms  possible 
with  Sebastian,  so  as  even  to  excite  the  remark 
of  the  various  employees  of  the  firm  of  Wilmot. 

During  all  this  period  Mrs.  Alfred  took  the 
tone  of  being  a  friendly  intermediary  amongst 
the  warring  factions  of  the  family,  and  always 
showed  toward  Sebastian  a  benevolence  which 
she  plainly  indicated  was  in  spite  of  all  his 
faults.  She  had  on  one  occasion  tried  her  hand 
with  him  on  the  vexed  question  of  the  house. 
It  would  be,  she  thought,  a  great  triumph  if 
by  her  diplomacy  she  could  prevail  where 
others  had  failed.  Nor  was  she  in  the  least 
deterred  from  the  attempt  by  the  ultimatum 
which  Sebastian  had  given  her  husband.  She 
had  encouraged  from  the  first  Mrs.  Wilmot 's 
desire  to  leave  a  house  which  she  had  long 
disliked  because  of  its  unfashionable  neighbor 
hood,  distant  from  all  her  friends,  and  because 
she  thought  it  gloomy.  This  last  opinion  was, 
of  course,  strengthened  by  late  events.  Margie, 


236  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

too,  especially  before  her  father's  death,  had 
always  looked  forward  to  a  house  farther 
uptown;  and,  though  Mrs.  Alfred  had  no 
particular  desire  to  gratify  her  sister-in-law, 
it  would  be  a  satisfaction  to  show  that  she  was 
able  to  accomplish  such  a  result. 

This  belief  in  her  own  powers,  in  so  far  as 
Sebastian  was  concerned,  rose,  of  course,  from 
her  wilful  misunderstanding  of  his  attitude  in 
the  matter.  She  believed  him  to  be  merely 
holding  out,  to  emphasize  his  position  of 
authority  over  them  all, — a  position  which  she 
bitterly  resented.  She  could  not  gauge  his 
affection  for  his  mother  and  Margie,  which 
would  have  led  him  to  yield  at  once  to  their 
slightest  wish  had  it  been  in  his  power.  It 
was  her  habit,  indeed,  to  take  little  cognizance 
of  such  sentiments,  which  had  had  singularly 
little  influence  upon  her  own  life. 

Therefore  one  evening,  shortly  after  Sebas 
tian's  altercation  with  his  elder  brother,  she 
led  him  into  the  living  room  after  dinner, 
while  the  rest  of  the  family  pursued  their  way 
to  the  drawing-room.  There,  as  was  frequently 
the  case,  Margie  sat  down  at  the  piano  to  play 
for  them. 

"My  dear  Sebastian,"  said  Mrs.  Alfred,  care 
fully  closing  the  door  that  she  might  not  be 
disturbed  by  the  music,  "I  have  been  wanting 
this  long  time  to  have  a  little  chat  with  you." 

Now,  as  Sebastian  could  not  truthfully  say 
that  this  desire  of  hers  was  by  any  means 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  237 

reciprocal,  he  simply  declared  that  it  was  very 
kind  of  her  to  think  at  all  of  a  prosy  man  of 
affairs. 

'Those    affairs,"    cried    Mrs.    Alfred,— "my 
dear  boy,  I  feel  that  you  are  overdoing  them!" 

"That  is  a  feature  of  New  York  life,"  said 
Sebastian,  carelessly.  "I  should  be  quite  out 
of  fashion  if  I  didn't  overdo." 

He  was  keenly  on  the  alert  all  this  time; 
for  he  was  well  aware  that  his  sister-in-law 
had  some  purpose  in  view,  and  that  it  was 
not  at  all  for  the  pleasure  of  his  society  that 
she  had  invited  him  to  this  interview,  or  that 
she  was  purring  in  her  most  caressing  mo 
notones. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "I  am  going  to 
be  very  bold,  and  talk  to  you  a  little  about 
this  affair  of  the  house  that  is  always  bobbing 
up." 

"  It  certainly  is  on  the  carpet  just  at  present," 
agreed  the  young  man,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"You  are  so  clever,  Sebastian,"  she  went 
on,  "and  you  know  so  exactly  what  ought  to 
be  done,  that  it  seems  ridiculous  for  me,  who 
am  not  the  least  bit  clever,  to  attempt  to 
advise  you." 

"You  underrate  yourself,"  said  Sebastian, 
with  an  irony  that  did  not  escape  Mrs.  Alfred. 
Nevertheless,  she  pursued  her  purring  way. 

"Alfred  feels  so  keenly  about  it!"  she  re 
marked.  "But  I  quite  realize  that,  with  all 
his  talents  and  his  great  legal  knowledge,  he 


238  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

is  a  blunderer  at  times.  I  tell  him  he  is  too 
honest." 

"So  you  are  not  a  believer  in  that  old 
maxim  of  the  copybooks?"  inquired  Sebastian, 
interestedly. 

"  Now  you  are  quizzing  me,"  said  Mrs.  Alfred, 
shaking  a  playful  finger  at  him.  "What  1 
mean  is  that  Alfred  very  often  blurts  out  the 
wrong  thing." 

"That  is  serious  for  a  lawyer,"  said  Sebastian. 

"He  jars  on  people  and  irritates  them." 

"Come,  come,  Mrs.  Alfred!"  cried  the  young 
man.  "I  shall  have  to  rise  to  the  defence  of 
my  brother.  If  you  were  to  say  those  things 
in  public,  you  would  ruin  him  professionally." 

"You  know  very  well  what  I  mean,  you 
mischievous  creature!"  she  replied,  vexed  at 
the  byplay,  and  that  Sebastian  could  not  be 
induced  to  take  the  matter  seriously.  "But, 
whether  you  do  or  not,  I  am  going  to  say  my 
little  say." 

"Which  I  am  all  attention  to  hear,"  said 
Sebastian,  politely. 

She  drew  her  chair  close  to  his,  and  laid  her 
long,  slender  fingers  lightly  upon  his  arm.  He 
noted  carelessly  how  white  they  were  against 
his  coat  sleeve. 

"Now,"  began  Mrs.  Alfred,  "I  am  going  to 
put  it  to  you  this  way.  Think  what  it  would 
mean  to  your  darling  mother,  who  in  putting 
on  the  widow's  weeds  has  had  the  greatest 
sorrow  that  can  befall  a  woman;  think  what 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  239 

it  would  mean  to  Margie,  if  you  were  to  come 
home  some  day,  and  tell  them  that  the  house 
was  sold.  Nothing  could  make  them  so  happy. ' ' 

"Poor  old  house!"  murmured  Sebastian, 
looking  about  him.  "Has  it  deserved  so  ill 
of  us  as  that?" 

"You  know  just  how  it  is,  you  dear,  teasing 
boy!"  (Sebastian  wondered  idly  at  what  age 
she  would  be  willing  to  admit  him  to  manhood.) 
' '  The  neighborhood  is  very  far  from  being  what 
it  was.  The  house  itself  is  heavy  and  cumbrous, 
and  too  large, — altogether  too  large  in  these 
days  of  inefficient  servants;  and,  besides,  it 
has  such  painful  recollections." 

' '  So  has  every  place  wherein  men  and  women 
have  lived  for  any  time,"  replied  Sebastian. 

"And  it  would  be  such  a  graceful  thing," 
went  on  Mrs.  Alfred,  "to  let  your  beloved 
mother  know  that,  though  you  offered  some 
opposition  at  first,  you  were  really  anxious  to 
please  her." 

"I  hope  I  shall  not  have  to  sell  a  house  to 
convince  her  of  that,"  observed  Sebastian. 

"I  thought  you  and  I  might  just  get  up  a 
little  conspiracy." 

"A-ha!"  cried  Sebastian.  "That  word  has 
an  ugly  sound.  I  am  the  most  straightforward 
of  persons,  quite  unfit  for  spoils  and  stratagems. 
I  had  best  leave  them,  perhaps,  to — those  who 
can  lend  them  a  charm." 

"Very  prettily  said,"  declared  Mrs.  Alfred. 
"But  really  this  would  be  such  a  beautiful 


24o  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

plot,  with  peace  and  good-will  and  happiness 
to  everyone  involved  in  its  success." 

"It  would  be  perfect  except  for  one  detail," 
replied  Sebastian. 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"My  inability  to  act  in  the  matter." 

"Fie,  fie!"  said  Mrs.  Alfred.  "You  know 
just  as  well  as  I  do  that  you  have  power  to 
do  anything  you  please." 

"It  seems  rather  as  if  I  had  power  to  do 
nothing  that  I  please,  or  by  which  I  might 
please  others." 

His  tone  was  touched  with  melancholy,  but 
Mrs.  Alfred  was  obstinate. 

"By  raising  your  little  finger  you  could 
delight  your  mother,  instead  of  grieving  and 
displeasing  her,  as  I  am  sorry  to  see  you 
doing." 

"Well,"  said  Sebastian,  "I  regret  exceed 
ingly  that  I  should  be  forced  to  give  you  so 
unpleasant  an  impression  of  me;  but,  un 
happily,  I  can  not  help  it." 

"Just  think,"  went  on  Mrs.  Alfred,  in  the 
tone  of  one  wheedling  a  wayward  and  wrong- 
headed  child,  "how  it  would  please  Margie  too 
(you  used  to  be  very  fond  of  Margie) ,  and  what 
it  would  mean  to  everybody." 

"Myself  included,"  added  Sebastian;  "for  I 
might  then  have  peace.  But  it  can  not  be." 

"Now  confess,  dear,  that  it  is  just  because 
you  have  said  so  once  and  want  to  show  how 
inflexible  you  are." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  241 

Sebastian,  who  was  inwardly  irritated  almost 
to  madness  by  her  words,  and  still  more  by 
her  manner  of  saying  them,  was  constitution 
ally  as  incapable  of  saying  a  rude  thing  to  a 
woman  as  he  would  have  been  of  striking 
her.  So  he  mastered  his  indignation,  and 
remarked  smilingly. 

'That  is  a  new  and  interesting  light  in 
which  to  view  oneself." 

"If,"  said  Mrs.  Alfred,  "you  would  just  come 
down  from  your  dignity — as  I  was  saying  to 
Alfred,  from  your  high  horse, — you  would 
make  us  all  so  happy,  so  blessed!  Won't  you 
promise  me  to  do  this  and  very  soon?" 

What  struck  Sebastian  most  of  all  at  the 
moment  was  the  self-conceit  of  the  woman, 
who  imagined  that  he  would  do  for  her,  and 
because  of  her  very  transparent  flattery,  what 
he  had  refused  to  do  for  his  mother  and  Margie. 
As  for  the  opinion  of  himself  thus  implied,  he 
let  it  pass,  since  it  mattered  not  at  all. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  growing  grave  at 
last,  "that,  after  all  the  words  that  have  been 
wasted  about  this  affair,  there  should  still  be 
any  doubt  as  to  my  motives  and  intentions. 
I  explained  definitely  to  Alfred  what  I  had 
stated  so  often  before — that,  according  to 
father's  testamentary  instructions,  this  house 
can  not  be  sold  at  the  present  time.  My  duty 
is  clear — to  obey  his  wishes." 

Mrs.  Alfred  regarded  the  speaker,  her  eyes 
narrowing  till  they  were  almost  closed,  her  face 


242  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

breaking  into  a  smile,   which  was  often  with 
her  a  sign  of  deadly  anger. 

"And,  my  dear  brother-in-law,"  she  said, 
"are  you  always  such  a  slave  to  duty,  such 
a  stickler  for  what  is  right?" 

Sebastian  turned  his  eyes  upon  her  with  an 
inquiring  glance,  as,  rising  from  her  seat,  Mrs. 
Alfred  sped  at  him  a  parting  shaft. 

"  If  that  is  so,  how  is  it  that  you  have  given 
up  your  religious  duties?    And  what  about— 
Elmira?" 

If  she  had  struck  him  in  the  face  he  could 
not  have  been  more  astounded,  while  there 
flashed  through  his  mind  the  remembrance  of 
what  Rosanna  had  said,  and  the  warning  she 
had  thrown  out.  How  Mrs.  Alfred  had  gained 
this  knowledge  he  could  not  guess,  nor  was  it 
possible  for  him  to  gauge  the  extent  of  her 
information.  Neither  did  he  in  the  least  know 
how  to  deal  with  the  matter.  Thoughts  chased 
each  other  tumultuously  through  his  mind, 
while  he  strove  to  conceal  the  agitation  that 
was  so  perfectly  apparent  to  Mrs.  Alfred.  She 
rejoiced  with  malicious  glee  that  the  shot  had 
gone  home. 

"I  should  not  have  said  that,"  she  con 
ceded,  however,  "since  Elmira  can  not  possibly 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  sale  of  the  house." 

' '  Perhaps  she  may  have  more  to  do  with 
it  than  you  think,"  was  the  singular  reply 
which  Sebastian  vouchsafed, — laughing,  how 
ever,  to  try  to  pass  off  the  remark  as  a  jest. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  243 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "that  this  house  is 
becoming  haunted  with  all  sorts  of  phantoms 
of  people's  brains,  to  which,  I  perceive,  there  is 
even  an  effort  to  give  names  as  well  as  '  a  local 
habitation.'  So  I  myself  think  it  is  high  time 
to  make  a  move  away  from  here,  though  the 
property  can  not  be  sold." 

"Your  mother  would  never  consent  to  that," 
replied  Mrs.  Alfred;  "nor  would  Alfred,  who 
is  so  wise  and  careful." 

"The  true  wisdom  would  be  to  make  the 
best  of  what  is  inevitable,"  returned  Sebastian, 
"and  in  the  meantime  to  let  each  one  of  us 
attend  to  his  or  her  own  affairs." 

After  which  he  forestalled  Mrs.  Alfred  in 
her  evident  intention  of  leaving  the  room. 
She  knew  to  what  he  had  referred  by  those 
last  words;  and,  feeling  that  her  attempt  had 
egregiously  failed,  she  stood  looking  after  his 
retreating  figure  with  vengeful  glances,  and 
conning  over  in  her  mind  a  variety  of  spiteful 
epithets,  which  she  could  not  very  well  apply 
to  him  in  public,  but  some  of  which  at  least 
she  would  rehearse  for  Alfred's  delectation. 
And  Sebastian,  disappearing  from  her  view, 
might  well  have  felt  that,  like  his  illustrious 
namesake,  arrows  were  being  directed  at  him 
from  every  quarter,  some  of  which  must  pierce 
the  most  invincible  armor. 

He  was  deeply  concerned,  in  fact,  by  the 
mention  by  this  woman  of  that  portentous 
name  of  Elmira,  which  had  startled  him  before 


244  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

on  the  lips  of  Rosanna.  His  fear  was  that  she 
had  obtained  whatever  knowledge  she  might 
have  by  dipping  into  his  father's  papers; 
though  it  seemed  impossible  that  she  could 
have  opened  the  safe.  He  felt,  with  something 
bordering  on  despair,  that  if  she  had  really 
gained  possession  of  that  secret  all  was  lost. 
Nor  did  it  occur  to  him  that  she  had  used  the 
name  of  that  mysterious  woman  in  connection 
with  himself,  and  merely  as  a  personal  insult. 
The  knowledge  of  such  an  error  on  her  part 
would,  indeed,  have  afforded  him  considerable 
relief  from  this  new  source  of  anxiety  that 
was  now  added  to  all  the  rest. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  245 


XVII. 

MUCH,  very  much,  had  been  added  to  Sebas 
tian's  troubles  and  perplexities  by  the  attitude 
assumed  by  Mrs.  Alfred;  and  also  by  that 
talent  of  hers,  an  almost  phenomenal  acute- 
ness,  which  led  her  just  as  often  upon  the 
wrong  as  the  right  track.  Accordingly,  it  vexed 
her  exceedingly  that  Sebastian  should  have 
been  made  the  supreme  arbiter  of  all  their 
destinies;  and  this  vexation  was  only  aggra 
vated  by  the  consciousness  that  he  merited 
the  trust  which  his  father  had  placed  in  him. 
However  much  she  might  have  been  disposed 
to  deny  him  those  necessary  qualifications, 
there  was  always  an  inner  voice  that  told  her 
he  possessed  them. 

It  had  annoyed  her,  too,  from  a  very  early 
stage  in  her  married  life  to  perceive  the  affec 
tion  which  Mrs.  Wilmot  was  disposed  to  lavish 
upon  her  youngest  son.  To  the  newcomer  into 
the  family,  it  had  seemed  excessive;  and,  aided 
by  the  course  of  events,  she  had  set  herself, 
with  what  success  has  been  seen,  to  estrange 
the  mother  from  the  son.  With  Margie  she  had 
not  prevailed  at  all.  That  stout  little  champion 
stood  up  staunchly  for  her  favorite  brother, 
and  the  interloper's  efforts  had  resulted  only 


246  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

in  an  undeclared  but  perfectly  tangible  antip 
athy  between  the  sisters-in-law. 

Louis  was,  in  his  own  way,  as  impregnable 
against  such  assaults  as  Margie;  but  Mrs. 
Alfred  often  wondered  if  the  cool  and  level 
headed  physician  stood  firm  less  because  of 
any  particular  predilection  for  Sebastian  than 
because  he  recognized  his  powers,  and  would 
do  nothing  to  hinder  their  full  application. 

Mrs.  Alfred  had  suspected  from  the  first 
that  something  was  amiss  with  Sebastian,  and 
the  finding  of  that  paper  had  put  her  upon 
the  wrong  track.  Therefore,  though  she  did 
not  usually  permit  herself  to  burst  forth  as 
she  had  done  to  Mrs.  Rollins,  she  allowed 
friends  of  the  family  and  the  more  intimate 
acquaintances  to  perceive  that  she  feared  some 
thing  was  wrong  with  Sebastian, — something 
which  made  him  the  object  rather  of  her  pity 
and  indulgent  benevolence  than  condemnation. 
The  whispers  which  she  set  afloat,  together 
with  her  gravely  expressed  doubts  (to  which 
she  added  those  of  Alfred)  as  to  his  competency 
for  the  management  of  the  business,  could  not 
altogether  fail  of  their  effect.  And  though,  in 
commercial  matters,  he  was  able  to  a  consider 
able  extent  to  live  down  such  rumors — to 
show  their  absurdity,  to  discredit  the  source 
whence  they  came,  and  literally  to  sweep  all 
before  him  by  that  strength,  uprightness,  and 
business  acumen  which  amounted  almost  to 
genius, — socially  it  was  otherwise. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  247 

He  had  never  attained  any  very  great  prom 
inence  in  the  various  circles  of  society  wherein 
his  people  had  moved,  simply  because  he  had 
a  preference  for  staying  at  home  as  much  as 
possible.  And  this  reserve,  and  aversion  to 
indiscriminate  society,  which  had  become  more 
marked  since  his  father's  death,  did  not  tend 
to  increase  his  popularity.  Nor  could  the 
power  of  his  personality  be  exerted  in  dis 
pelling  such  illusions,  or  giving  the  lie  to  those 
rumors  against  him  which  gradually  gained 
force.  The  talk  that  went  round  took  a  wide 
range  and  was  of  the  most  extravagant  and 
improbable  description,  so  that  Mrs.  Alfred 
would  have  been  sincerely  shocked  could  she 
have  known  the  consequences  of  her  idle  talk, 
or  the  conclusions  drawn  from  her  premises. 

Now,  under  other  circumstances,  Mrs.  Rollins 
would  have  been  the  first  to  set  her  face  against 
such  calumnies,  and  to  have  proclaimed  her 
belief  in  Sebastian  by  having  him  more  than 
ever  in  her  company.  But  there  was  the 
delicate  circumstance  that  she  was  entrusted 
with  a  young  girl,  the  child  of  old  friends, — a 
girl  whom  she  herself  loved  as  a  dear  daughter, 
and  who  had  already  shown  an  unusual  par 
tiality  for  this  sheep  who,  Mrs.  Alfred  would 
have  her  think,  was  of  sombre  dye.  She  felt 
it  her  imperative  duty  to  prevent  the  growing 
intimacy  between  the  two;  and  she  had  per 
ceived  with  concern  the  interest  which  each, 
all  too  evidently,  took  in  the  other  upon  that 


248  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

evening  of  the  concert.  And  although  Dorothy 
Kent  had  agreed  to  receive  no  visits  from 
Mr.  Wilmot,  or  to  hold  with  him  any  com 
munication  unknown  to  her  protectress,  she 
had  stoutly  and  in  her  own  peculiarly  convincing 
way,  refused  to  believe  any  evil  of  him. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  Mrs. 
Rollins  was  astonished  to  receive,  one  after 
noon,  a  visit  from  Sebastian  himself.  Like 
all  those  who  knew  him  intimately,  she  was 
shocked  to  notice  the  change  that  had  lately 
been  wrought  in  him, — how  much  he  had 
aged,  how  subdued  was  his  manner,  and  how 
strong  the  suggestion  of  self-repression  that  he 
carried  with  him.  Nevertheless,  his  manner 
and  appearance  impressed  her,  as  they  had 
always  done,  with  an  idea  of  strength,  of  mental 
vigor,  and  of  self-control;  and,  shrewd  wroman 
of  the  world  as  she  was,  she  saw  in  his  whole 
bearing  a  something  which,  more  forcibly  than 
any  words  could  have  done,  seemed  to  give 
the  lie  to  all  she  had  heard.  But  if  her  ex 
perience  of  life  had  made  her  perceptions 
keener,  it  had  also  taught  her  how  frequently 
appearances  may  be  deceptive.  And  anything 
seemed  more  likely  than  that  Mrs.  Alfred, 
whatever  her  personal  prejudices  might  be, 
would  deliberately,  and  without  foundation, 
set  to  work  to  vilify  her  husband's  brother. 

As  for  Sebastian,  apart  from  the  hint  which 
Dorothy  had  given  him,  he  could  not  help 
being  conscious  cf  the  constraint  in  his  hostess' 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  249 

manner  and  the  coldness  of  her  greeting.  She 
supposed  that  he  had  merely  come  to  pay 
what  the  French  expressively  call  "a  visit  of 
digestion"  after  the  dinner  to  which  he  had 
been  invited;  and  Mrs.  Rollins  would  have 
received  him  with  the  conventional  courtesy 
that,  like  the  sun,  shines  upon  the  good  and 
bad  alike ;  but  there  was  the  shadow  of  Dorothy 
in  the  background, — a  shadow  which  no  doubt 
this  young  man  was  hoping  would  presently 
materialize  into  the  substance.  The  first  pre 
liminaries  of  conversation  were  sufficiently  un 
comfortable  to  both,  and,  unwilling  to  prolong 
them,  Sebastian  very  speedily  said: 

"Apart  from  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  this 
afternoon,  Mrs.  Rollins,  I  am  going  to  ask  as 
a  favor  that  I  may  have  a  few  moments'  private 
conversation  with  Miss  Kent." 

Mrs.  Rollins  hesitated,  turning  round  upon 
her  finger  a  superb  ring,  an  opal  set  with 
diamonds,  which  had  been  the  token  of  an 
engagement  that  had  been  followed  by  but  a 
few  years  of  marriage,  when  she  had  been 
left  a  widow.  After  having  made  that  bold 
move,  Sebastian  sat  back  in  his  chair,  with  a 
peculiar  effect,  that  he  sometimes  gave,  of 
concentrated  quietude.  Nor  was  he  unpre 
pared  for  her  words. 

"I   am  afraid,"   Mrs.   Rollins  said  at  last— 
"and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  now  as  at  any 
other   time — that   I   can   not   approve   of — any 


250  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

matrimonial  intentions  you  may  have  concern 
ing  my  friend  Miss  Dorothy  Kent." 

Quick  as  a  flash  came  that  answer,  which 
was  the  very  last  she  had  expected  to  hear. 

"Then  let  me  assure  you,"  the  young  man 
said  impressively,  "that  at  the  present  time 
I  have  no  such  intentions." 

This  reply  was  so  astounding  that  for  the 
moment  it  completely  took  away  the  hearer's 
self-possession  and  left  her  speechless.  That 
first  emotion  of  surprise  was  followed  by  one 
of  resentment  against  Sebastian,  and  vexation 
that  she  had  so  clumsily  placed  both  herself 
and  Dorothy  in  a  false  position.  It  was  a 
grave  social  blunder,  indeed,  to  have  seemed 
to  misconstrue  the  young  man's  very  ordinary 
attentions,  and  after  so  brief  an  acquaintance, 
into  something  serious;  all  the  more  that 
Sebastian  Wilmot's  wealth  and  social  standing 
made  him,  from  most  points  of  view,  an  ex 
cellent  match. 

"I  am  exceedingly  mortified,"  she  began. 
"I  can  not  forgive  myself.  What  I  have  said 
is  inexcusable." 

But  Sebastian,  bending  forward,  cut  short 
her  apology,  which  she  herself  felt  to  be  futile. 
There  was  upon  the  young  man's  face  a  grave, 
even  melancholy  expression,  which,  somehow, 
reassured  her. 

"I  hope,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "that  you 
will  not  misunderstand  this  statement  that  I 
have  made,  even  though  it  is  impossible  for 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  251 

me  to  explain  or  to  qualify  it  in  any  degree. 
But  you  must  be  persuaded  how  deeply  I 
should  feel  honored  by  the  least  notice  from 
Miss  Kent.  I  merely  spoke  to  relieve  your 
apprehensions,  and  to  show  that  at  this  present 
time  I  am  so  overloaded  with  cares  and  respon 
sibilities  I  must  put  marriage  out  of  my 
thoughts."  There  was  in  his  tone  a  deep  sin 
cerity  struggling  with  some  hidden  feeling,  as 
he  thus  burned  his  bridges  behind  him,  that 
moved  Mrs.  Rollins  to  pity. 

''Oh,  you  must  forgive  me  my  blundering 
interference!"  she  cried.  "1  am  afraid  Miss 
Kent  would  be  very  angry  if  she  knew.  But, 
you  see,  as  she  is  under  my  charge,  and  as  I 
have  no  daughter  of  my  own,  I  am  unneces 
sarily  anxious." 

"God  knows,"  said  Sebastian,  in  a  burst  of 
uncontrollable  feeling,  "I  should  think  myself 
the  happiest  man  alive  if  I  were  free  to  offer 
myself  as  a  suitor  for  Miss  Kent,  and  to  feel 
that  I  had  the  slightest  chance  of  success  with 
her." 

Now,  that  outburst  —  which  caused  the 
listener's  heart  to  warm  toward  the  young 
man,  and  strengthened  her  old  liking  for  him, 
while  it  confirmed  her  in  the  belief  that  he 
really  was  infatuated  with  Dorothy — did  nothing 
to  disprove  Mrs.  Alfred's  insinuations.  For 
why  should  he,  who  had  been  left  in  a  position 
of  complete  independence,  and  even  authority, 
by  his  father,  find  it  impossible  to  marry? 


17 


252  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

There  must  be  some  dark  secret  or  secrets 
that  prevented  him  from  going  forward  in  the 
direction  toward  which  his  inclination  visibly 
pointed. 

"What  I  want  to  speak  to  Miss  Kent  about," 
said  Sebastian,  remaining  silent  just  long  enough 
to  permit  him  to  resume  his  ordinary  tone, 
"is  a  matter  wherein  I  have  promised  to  give 
her  some  help,  but  which  it  is  expedient  to 
keep  private  for  the  moment.  She  has  promised, 
in  fact,  to  show  me  a  photograph  which  is 
connected  with  the  case,  but  which  can  not  have 
any  interest  for  others  than  ourselves." 

"Mysteries  are  not  to  my  taste,  especially 
when  they  exist  between  two  young  people 
who,  as  we  have  just  agreed,  can  be  nothing 
to  each  other.  And  I  may  add  that,  since  you 
can  not  come  forward  openly  as  a  suitor  for 
Miss  Kent,  it  is  better  that  you  should  let  her 
entirely  alone.  She  is  not,  I  am  thankful  to 
say,  specially  impressionable.  She  has  had 
many  admirers,  and  would  be,  I  believe,  less 
dazzled  by  the  advantages  you  have  to  offer 
than  most  modern  girls.  Still,  she  is  young, 
and  the  armor  of  youth  is  never  quite  impreg 
nable.  Besides,  you  may  do  her  an  injustice 
by  keeping  away  other  and,  possibly,  more 
desirable  men." 

If  Sebastian  noticed  the  qualifying  phrase 
he  gave  no  sign.  His  tone,  indeed,  was  sadly 
acquiescent. 

"I   can   quite   see,"   he   said,    "the   force   of 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  253 

your  reasoning;  and  I  am  certain  of  one  thing: 
that,  for  my  own  peace  of  mind,  it  is  better 
that  I  should  keep  away.  But  for  this  one  time, 
as  the  matter  is  really  of  importance,  I  beg 
that  you  will  permit  this  interview." 

"Why,  of  course!"  said  Mrs.  Rollins.  "It 
would  be  absurd  as  well  as  ungracious  to  do 
otherwise.  Miss  Kent  is  in  her  room.  I  will 
send  for  her." 

Saying  which  she  rose  and,  after  a  slight 
instant  of  hesitation,  held  out  her  hand.  Sebas 
tian,  though  well  aware  of  the  malign  influence 
that  had  been  exerted  over  her,  made  no 
attempt  to  reinstate  himself  in  her  good  graces. 
The  matter,  he  knew,  was  hopeless.  Whatever 
opinion  of  him  had  been  put  into  her  mind  must 
remain  there.  He  braced  his  shoulders  as  if 
for  conflict,  resolving  to  himself  that,  whatever 
might  befall,  he  should  stand  firm.  He  walked 
restlessly  about  the  room,  mechanically  examin 
ing  the  pictures  on  the  wall  and  the  groups  of 
statuary  placed  at  intervals,  until  he  heardr 
with  a  sudden  thrill  and  leaping  of  the  heart, 
a  swish  of  skirts,  and  knew  that  Dorothy  was 
coming. 

She  advanced  into  the  room,  in  a  simple 
house  dress  of  soft  silk,  that,  in  its  graceful 
lines  and  absence  of  all  decorative  trimming, 
was  singularly  becoming  to  her.  A  small  turn 
over  collar  seemed  to  emphasize  the  slenderness 
of  her  throat,  above  which  rose  that  eager, 
sympathetic  face,  and  those  eyes  that  had  so 


254  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

singular  an  attraction  for  him.     She  held  out 
her  hand  frankly. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  have  come,"  she  said, 
"and  that  Mrs.  Rollins  has  allowed  me  to  see 
you,  especially  as  I  had  a  letter  from  that  poor, 
forlorn  old  creature,  who  is  getting  poorer  as 
well  as  more  helpless  every  day,  and  who  has 
begun  at  last  to  despair  of  help  from  any 
source." 

So  they  sat  down  together  to  discuss  that 
matter.  Dorothy  took  possession  of  a  large 
armchair,  which  gave  a  touch  of  quaintness  to 
her  figure;  and  Sebastian  pulled  a  light  wicker 
one  sufficiently  near  that  they  might  talk  in 
lowered  tones.  He  was  thinking  how  perilous, 
not  for  her  but  for  him,  would  be  continued 
association.  The  exhilaration,  the  joyfulness 
that  had  come  from  her  presence,  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  and  the  smile  upon  her  lips,  brought 
the  fact  home  to  him  with  peculiar  force.  Even 
the  vague  hint  that  Mrs.  Rollins  had  thrown 
out,  that  he  himself  and  his  attentions  might 
not  be  wholly  indifferent  to  Dorothy,  gave  an 
added  stimulus  to  that  attraction  toward  this 
personality  of  singular  charm.  He  seemed  to 
realize  with  an  intensity  that  astonished  himself 
what  life  might  be  if  he  were  free  from  that 
horrible  entanglement,  and  could,  as  Mrs. 
Rollins  said,  come  forward  openly  as  a  suitor. 
He  permitted  himself  to  wonder  as  to  the 
manner  in  which  Dorothy  would  have  received 
his  advances,  and  whether  he  could  really 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  255 

have  prevailed  with  her.  As  for  the  girl,  what 
ever  the  thoughts  that  might  be  subconsciously, 
as  the  phrase  is,  filling  the  back  of  her  mind 
she  was  chiefly  occupied  just  then  with  the 
letter  she  had  received, — a  letter  which  had 
awakened  all  the  sympathy  of  her  nature,  and 
aroused  in  her  a  generous  emotion. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  "I  had  better  let  you 
read  this  letter,  Mr.  Wilmot;  and  then  you 
will  see  and  understand  for  yourself  that  I 
must  help  this  poor  creature,  if  there  is  any 
way  of  doing  so;  and  that  it  must  be  done  at 
once.  Her  little  resources  are  nearly  at  an  end, 
and  what  is  to  become  of  her  then?" 

Sebastian  took  the  letter  from  her  hand.  It 
was  fairly  well  written,  though  in  a  hand  that 
was  loose  and  rambling,  and  it  extended  over 
several  sheets  of  thin  paper.  The  whole  tragedy 
of  a  life  was  there  expressed;  and,  in  his  present 
mood  of  exaltation,  which  was  partly  a  reflex 
of  that  of  the  girl  beside  him,  it  touched  him 
to  the  quick.  All  the  latent  chivalry  of  his 
nature  was  brought  to  the  surface;  and,  more 
over,  it  had  been  borne  in  upon  him,  even  as 
upon  that  occasion  when  he  had  first  heard 
of  Miss  Kent's  singular  acquaintance,  that  the 
poor  unfortunate  had  been  curiously  linked 
to  his  own  life,  at  least  by  the  bond  of  coinci 
dence.  The  letter  gave  the  history  of  the  case, 
as  though  Dorothy  were  hearing  if  for  the  first 
time.  It  told  of  the  early  age  at  which  the 
writer  had  been  deprived  of  her  sole  parent 


256  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

and,  so  far  as  she  knew,  only.-  living  relative. 
It  told  of  some  of  the  struggles  which  the 
dead  woman  had  endured,  of  her  connection 
with  certain  theatrical  companies  remote  from 
New  York  or  from  any  of  the  larger  centres, 
where  her  detection  by  the  man  from  whom 
she  had  fled  might  be  probable;  and  in  such 
ventures  she  had  never,  of  course,  made  use 
of  her  own  name.  The  place  and  circumstances 
of  the  mother's  death  were  given  in  detail, 
only  the  date  being  omitted;  since,  as  the  poor 
woman  said,  she  could  not  be  certain  of  the 
year,  nor  of  how  old  she  herself  was  at  the  time, 
because  of  the  confusion  in  her  head,  that  would 
not  let  her  think.  She  had  been  a  very  young 
girl,  not  yet  grown  into  womanhood,  and  had 
been  attending  school.  She  spent  also  an 
entire  page  of  the  letter  bemoaning  the  fact 
that  her  mother  had  become  so  suddenly  un 
conscious  in  her  last  fatal  illness  that  she  had 
not  time  to  tell  her,  as  she  might  then  have 
consented  to  do,  the  name  and  the  where 
abouts  of  that  mysterious  father,  whom  she 
had  apparently  spent  those  last  years  of  her 
life  in  eluding. 

When  Sebastian  came  to  the  end  of  this 
epistle,  he  saw  that  it  was  signed  with  a  single 
initial — E.  He  stared  at  it  a  moment  with  a 
growing  excitement. 

"You  don't  mind  telling  me,  I  suppose," 
he  said,  "what  that  initial  stands  for?" 

And  it  required  all  his  self-command  not  to 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  257 

betray  the  shock  which  he  received  when 
Dorothy,  who  was  intent  upon  the  letter  that 
she  had  taken  back  into  her  hand,  answered 
unsuspectingly : 

"Elmira." 

Was  that  name,  Sebastian  thought,  to  haunt 
him  and  confront  him  at  every  turn?  And 
could  it  be  possible  that  here  before  his  eyes, 
within  his  very  grasp,  was  the  grim  Nemesis 
that  had  darkened  his  father's  life,  and  projected 
its  shadow  into  his  own?  This  improbability 
had,  indeed,  come  to  pass;  and  the  woman 
whose  fate  he  had  commiserated  was  precisely 
that  one  with  whom  his  father's  existence  had 
been  bound  up.  He  even  forgot  for  the  moment, 
that  this  Elmira  could  not  be  the  one  who  had 
probably  superadded  that  rather  uncommon 
cognomen  of  Elmira  to  her  more  plebeian  one 
of  Sally.  With  a  start  he  remembered  that  if 
the  name  were  not  another  mere  trick  of  the 
enchanter  Coincidence,  this  must  be  not  the 
woman  herself  but  the  daughter.  And  if  that 
were  so,  what  then?  He  thrilled  from  head 
to  foot  with  the  possibility  of  relief  from  at 
least  one  portion  of  his  anxieties,  and  from  a 
danger  that  had  seemed  ever  imminent.  For 
never  should  Elmira  in  the  flesh  appear  to 
substantiate  those  claims  which  would  have 
placed  his  mother  and  the  whole  family  in  so 
intolerable  a  position. 

With  the  curious  commingling  of  emotions 
of  which  the  human  heart  is  susceptible,  came 


258  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

likewise  a  strong  sensation  of  pity  and  regret 
that  the  Elmira  whom  he  had  been  seeking,  and 
whom  he  unconsciously  pictured  to  himself  as 
still  the  young  mill  girl  of  long  ago,  had  died,— 
died  without  justice  having  been  done  to  her, 
or  without  receiving  any  portion  of  the  wealth 
which  she  had,  it  is  true,  forfeited  by  her  own 
rash  act,  but  which,  nevertheless,  was  right 
fully  hers.  He  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak; 
he  could  not,  in  the  light  of  that  new  possi 
bility,  think  of  any  form  of  words  in  which  to 
continue  the  conversation  with  Dorothy.  He 
stared  at  her  helplessly;  even  her  beauty  for 
the  time  being  unnoted,  save,  perhaps,  by 
some  unconsciously  soothing  and  restful  influ 
ence  that  it  exerted. 

"It  is  a  singular  name,  Elmira,"  commented 
Dorothy.  "I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  it  before 
in  real  life.  Did  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Sebastian,  scarcely  knowing  what 
he  answered,  "I  have  heard  it  before." 

"It  suited  the  woman,"  Dorothy  went  on; 
though  she  was  beginning  to  wonder  at  the 
young  man's  set  face,  and  the  strange  expres 
sion  of  the  eyes,  which  were  startled  as  if  he 
had  seen  a  ghost.  "It  would  have  been  dread 
fully  out  of  place  if  her  name  had  been— 
well,  anything  at  all." 

She-  ended  rather  lamely;  for  it  certainly 
seemed  to  her  that  Sebastian's  manner  was 
peculiar,  and  that  he  did  not  show  any  of  the 
sympathy  that  he  had  offered  spontaneously 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  259 

upon  another  occasion.  It  occurred  to  her, 
therefore,  that  she  had  better  not  linger  over 
details,  but  say  whatever  she  had  to  say,  and 
conclude  what  might  be  called  the  business 
part  of  the  interview.  She  thought,  with  a 
touch  of  resentment,  that  the  young  man  was 
plainly  thinking  of  something  else,  and  had  not 
been  moved,  as  she  believed  he  would  be,  by 
the  letter  and  the  story  of  that  strange  life. 

' '  I  know, ' '  she  said,  ' '  that  you  are  so  very 
busy,  and  have  so  many  cares  of  your  own 
that  it  is  not  reasonable  to  expect  you  to  be 
interested  in  this  poor  woman." 

"But,  indeed,  I  am  interested,"  rejoined 
Sebastian,  with  an  accent  of  unmistakable 
sincerity.  ' '  I  am  more  deeply  interested  than 
you  can  imagine,  and  quite  apart  from  the 
interest  I  must  take  in  whatever  interests 
you— 

He  stopped;  for  this,  perhaps,  was  not 
quite  in  accordance  with  his  tacit  agreement 
with  Mrs.  Rollins.  After  a  brief  pause  he 
resumed : 

"The  case  is  most  pitiful, — a  most  tragic 
one,  and  I  have  already  been  thinking  over  all 
that  must  be  done  in  the  woman's  behalf. 
Of  course  she  must  get  relief  at  once.  She  must, 
at  any  cost,  be  placed  beyond  the  reach  of  want 
in  future." 

He  spoke  rapidly,  feverishly;  and  Dorothy's 
heart  was  touched  by  these  evidences  of  what 
she  supposed  to  be  merely  generous  emotion. 


26o  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

'That  is  so  good  of  you!"  she  said.  "So 
many  people  would  never  give  the  matter  a 
second  thought." 

"But  I  can  not  take  credit  for  that,"  said 
Sebastian,  anxious  to  turn  aside  praise  which 
he  believed  to  be  unmerited.  "Indeed  I  can 
not.  I  am  simply  obliged  to  help  her  and  to 
do  everything  that  can  be  done." 

He  paused;  for  even  in  his  excitement  he 
realized  that  he  might  be  going  too  far.  And, 
in  truth,  Dorothy  was  somewhat  puzzled. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "since  you  are  kind  enough 
to  feel  that  way— 

"And  to  do  her  a  kind  of  vicarious  justice," 
he  interposed,  with  a  slight  laugh. 

"I  think,"  said  Dorothy,  "I  had  better 
show  you  the  photograph  now.  It  would 
probably  be  the  best  guide  of  all  for  finding 
out  anything;  and  it  might  have  resulted  in 
something  long  ago,  only  that  Elmira  felt 
herself  bound  by  the  absolute  command  of 
her  mother  not  to  put  the  matter  into  the 
hands  of  police  or  detective.  Still,  her  mother 
always  said  that,  after  her  death,  if  she  could 
not  find  out  in  any  other  way,  she  would  be 
free  to  make  what  appeal  she  chose  to  that 
mysterious  father,  whose  name  during  her 
lifetime  she  would  never  divulge.  But  she 
insisted  that  she  must  not,  in  any  event, 
approach  him  through  the  police  or  make  any 
public  scandal." 

While   Dorothy   thus   talked,   Sebastian   was 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  261 

realizing  to  the  full  how  much  his  father  had 
owed  to  the  forbearance  of  that  miserable, 
undisciplined  girl,  who,  though  aware  of  the 
wrealth  and  the  position  he  had  attained, 
either  from  pride  or  from  the  consciousness 
that  she  had  been  in  the  wrong,  had  endured 
all  things  rather  than  appeal  to  him  for  assist 
ance,  or  trouble  the  peace  of  an  existence  out 
of  which  she  had  voluntarily  passed. 

Summoning  all  his  energies  to  meet  what 
he  foresaw  was  coming,  Sebastian  let  his  eyes 
wander  round  the  room,  which  had  the  common 
place  appearance  of  one  wherein  the  minor 
business  of  life  was  transacted, — its  follies,  its 
pleasures,  its  conventions.  Everything  was  in 
order;  there  was  nothing  to  correspond  to  the 
tumultuous  disorder  of  his  thoughts.  Every 
thing  had  a  smiling  appearance  of  well-being, 
where  so  much  was  awry  in  the  ordering  of 
Sebastian's  life;  while  its  stillness,  save  for  their 
two  voices,  seemed  to  cry,  "Peace, — peace!" 
where  there  was  no  peace.  The  brightness 
coming  in  at  the  window  seemed  discordant. 
Even  the  beauty  and  charm  of  this  girl  seemed 
strangely  inharmonious  with  these  new  pictures 
presented  to  his  mind  and  serving  as  a  com 
plement  to  those  which  his  father  had  placed 
before  him, — pictures  of  wrong  done  that  could 
never  be  atoned  for,  of  misery  inflicted,  and 
of  the  peril  that  had  hung  suspended  by  a 
thread, — the  frail  thread  of  a  woman's  pride 
and  unwillingness  to  force  herself  upon  one 


262  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

whom  she  had  given  up  of  her  own  accord, 
but  who,  as  she  had  believed,  had  very  willingly 
acquiesced  in  that  arrangement. 

Meanwhile  Dorothy's  small  head,  with  its 
shining,  well-brushed  tresses,  arranged  with 
such  absolute  neatness  that  scarcely  a  tiny 
ringlet  or  two  escaped  upon  the  white  neck, 
was  bending  over  a  parcel  which  she  had 
brought  from  upstairs.  It  was  wrapped  in 
many  sheets  of  tissue  paper,  from  which  she 
took  forth  and  held  out  to  Sebastian  a  photo 
graph.  It  had  never  been  a  specially  good 
one,  and  now  it  was  faded  by  the  years.  As 
Sebastian  stretched  forth  his  hand  and  took 
it,  there  stared  at  him  from  the  cardboard  the 
lineaments  of  his  father  as  he  had  been  in 
youth, — not,  indeed,  the  prosperous  and  portly 
merchant  whom  Sebastian,  in  the  confusion 
of  his  thoughts,  had  half  expected  to  see,  but 
a  slender  and  dark  complexioned  youth,  who 
bore  a  slight,  indefinable  resemblance  to  him 
self,  which  he  prayed  that  Dorothy  might  not 
discover.  A  blessed  thing,  it  seemed  to  him 
then,  that  he  was  said  to  resemble  his  mother, 
or  at  least  her  side  of  the  family. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  263 


XVIII. 

SEBASTIAN  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  counter 
feit  presentment, — not  daring  to  withdraw  them 
for  fear  Dorothy  might  read  in  their  depths 
something  of  what  he  was  feeling;  for  a  very 
whirl  of  thought  was  rushing  through  his 
brain.  Detection  of  that  cherished  secret, 
exposure  and  all  its  consequences,  might  hang 
upon  that  piece  of  pasteboard;  and  he  had 
a  shuddering  realization  of  what  would ,  have 
happened  if  Dorothy  had  shown  that  photo 
graph  to  Mrs.  Rollins,  or  if  Mrs.  Alfred  had 
even  so  much  as  heard  of  its  existence. 

There  was  positive  relief,  too,  even  triumph, 
in  the  feeling  that  his  quest  was  over, — the 
weary  search  which  he  had  been  pursuing  by 
means  of  cautious  inquiries,  of  carefully- worded 
advertisements,  each  of  which  had  given  him 
cold  chills  of  apprehension  lest  it  should  be 
answered  or  read  or  understood  by  the  prying 
and  the  malicious.  And  there  was  thankfulness 
that  this  damaging  witness  of  the  past  had 
not  fallen  into  other  hands;  and  there  was  a 
glimmer  of  hope  that  out  of  this  chaos  might 
come  light.  It  seemed,  perhaps,  most  singular 
of  all  that  this  certainty  had  come  through  the 


264  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

instrumentality  of  Dorothy,  from  whom  Sebas 
tian  would  most  have  wished  to  keep  all  knowl 
edge  of  the  guilty  secret. 

As  he  trusted  himself  at  last  to  look  at  her, 
noting  the  broad  brow,  the  space  between  the 
eyes,  and  the  whole  expression  of  the  face, 
denoting  kindliness  and  sympathy,  he  wondered 
if  to  her,  more  than  to  others,  it  might  not  be 
safe  to  make,  if  that  were  necessary,  such  a 
revelation.  For  if  she  were  yet  too  young  and 
too  ignorant  of  the  world's  ways  to  feel  the 
divinest  of  all  sympathy,  pity  for  the  wrong 
doer,  she  might  at  least  be  made  to  com 
prehend  something  of  the  pathetic  elements 
of  the  situation,  even  where  David  Wilmot 
was  concerned. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Sebastian,  in  a  voice  that, 
to  his  own  surprise,  sounded  steady,  "you  have 
not  shown  this  photograph  to  any  one?" 

"I  have  not  shown  it  even  to  Mrs.  Rollins," 
Dorothy  answered;  "though  I  have  told  her 
the  story.  She  never  was  so  much  interested 
in  that  as  I  had  hoped.  She  said  there  were 
plenty  of  such  cases  in  every  large  city,  and 
that  it  would  be  like  looking  for  a  needle  in 
a  haystack  to  try,  after  so  many  years,  to  find 
that  man  without  the  help  of  the  police.  She 
thought,  by  the  way,  that  was  a  very  ridiculous 
condition  for  the  mother  to  have  made, — that 
the  police  should  not  be  called  in.  It  made  her 
inclined  to  doubt  the  whole  story.  But  I  can 
understand  that  part  of  it,  can't  you?" 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  265 

"From  one  point  of  view,  yes,"  replied 
Sebastian;  "though  I  don't  think  many  people 
would  look  at  it  just  in  that  way." 

' '  More  women  than  you  think  would  be 
disposed  to  do  so,"  said  Dorothy.  "You  see, 
she  had  left  her  husband  of  her  own  accord; 
and,  though  that  did  not  excuse  him,  she 
might  have  felt  a  reluctance  in  going  back  for 
the  sake  of  money.  Or,  if  we  look  for  a  meaner 
motive,  she  might  have  been  afraid  that  she 
had  somehow  put  herself  into  the  power  of 
the  law,  and  that  a  rich  man  would  in  any 
case  be  able  to  get  the  better  of  her.  Mrs. 
Rollins  does  not  believe  that  he  is  wealthy. 
She  thinks  that  was  only  a  romantic  story, 
the  woman  invented  to  tell  her  daughter." 

"Well,"  said  Sebastian,  "I  am  not  of  Mrs. 
Rollins'  opinion.  I  believe  the  story  is  true. 
But  will  you  do  me,  in  any  case,  the  favor 
not  to  speak  much  about  it,  and  above  all  not 
to  show  the  photograph  to  any  one,  especially," 
he  added,  with  a  laugh,  "  to  Mrs.  Alfred  Wilmot? 
Otherwise,  I  should  have  no  peace  till  she  knew 
everything." 

'You  may  be  sure  I  will  not  show  it,"  an 
swered  Dorothy.  "Up  to  this  time,  I  have 
kept  it  in  the  bottom  of  my  trunk  for  fear 
of  prying  eyes." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Sebastian.  "It  is 
understood  that  we  keep  the  secret  between 
us." 

"More    than    that,"    observed    Dorothy,    "I 


266  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

think  I  will  entrust  you  with  the  photograph,— 
only,  of  course,  on  condition  that  you  do  not 
let  it  get  into  the  hands  of  the  police.   The  wishes 
of  the  dead  woman,  if  they  were  overstrained, 
must  be  respected." 

"They  shall  be  by  me,"  promised  Sebastian; 
"and  I  will  take  the  greatest  care  of  the 
photograph." 

He  betrayed,  in  fact,  almost  an  undue  eager 
ness  to  restore  the  piece  of  cardboard  to  its 
wrappings  of  tissue  paper,  and  to  conceal  it 
in  the  depths  of  his  pocket.  Once  there,  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  a  catastrophe  had  been 
averted. 

"Now  that  this  matter  is  in  my  hands,"  he 
further  assured  her,  "I  feel  confident  that  I 
shall  be  able  to  accomplish  something.  I  shall 
leave  no  stone  unturned  to  discover  the  key 
to  this  mystery,  and  to  place  Elmira's  affairs 
upon  a  satisfactory  basis." 

"  Inspired  by  your  confidence,"  said  Dorothy, 
' '  I  think  I  may  venture  to  write  her  a  hopeful 
letter." 

"You  may  do  more  than  that,"  rejoined 
Sebastian,  hesitating  over  each  word,  since  he 
recognized  the  delicate  position  in  which  he 
was  placed.  "On  the  score  of  that  confidence, 
you  may  send  her,  if  you  will,  a  cheque,  which 
shall  be  paid  through  you  every  month  until 
this  mystery  is  cleared  up." 

"But,"  said  Dorothy,  "if  it  should  never  be 
cleared  up?" 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  267 

Sebastian  looked  at  her  with  a  smile. 

"I  can  not  admit  such  a  possibility.  With 
adequate  resources  at  one's  command,  every 
thing  can  be  accomplished  nowadays." 

"But,"  persisted  Dorothy,  "if  everything 
should  not  be  accomplished?" 

"Why,  then,"  said  the  young  man,  "we  can 
go  on  hoping  until  Elmira's  death  should  settle 
matters  in  another  way." 

"Oh,  you  are  too  generous,  too  kind!"  cried 
Dorothy,  feeling  almost  as  if  his  generosity 
was  being  extended  to  herself. 

Sebastian  eagerly  disclaimed  this. 

" It  is  not  generosity,"  he  said.  "Oh,  believe 
me,  it  is  simple  justice!" 

As  she  stared  at  him  in  wonder,  he  added: 

'The  justice,  I  mean,  that  society  owes  to 
the  woman  who  has  been  wronged." 

"But  how  shall  we  explain  this  matter  to 
her?  Shall  we  have  to  invent  the  fiction  that 
the  father  has  been  found?" 

Sebastian  looked  at  her  with  a  strange  smile. 

"You  and  I  can  persuade  ourselves  of  that," 
he  declared.  "I  can  say  to  you,  and  you  must 
believe  me,  that  he  has  been  found." 

There  was  silence  in  the  room, — a  silence  so 
deep  and  prolonged  that  it  seemed  almost  as 
if  his  words  echoed  through  its  vastness. 

"He  has  been  found,"  said  Sebastian.  "He 
is  most  deeply  penitent  for  the  wrong  he  did 
her  mother,  even  though  that  mother  was,  in 
the  first  instance,  to  blame.  (At  least  we  can 


18 


268 


take  the  word  of  the  dead  woman  for  that.) 
He  is  anxious  to  atone  for  the  past,  to  rid  himself 
of  the  burden  of  remorse  that  weighed  him 
down;  that  rose  a  dark  spectre  before  him 
everywhere;  that  he  was  afraid  of  transmitting 
as  a  curse  to  his  children;  that  even  in  death 
might  follow  him  beyond  the  grave." 

Sebastian  was  talking  rapidly,  his  breath 
coming  quick,  and  his  face  flushed. 

"Oh,"  cried  Dorothy,  with  a  little  shudder, 
when  his  voice  at  last  died  away  into  silence, 
"what  an  imagination  you  must  have!  I 
never  thought  before  that  you  would  have 
made  a  splendid  actor." 

"Life  itself  is  chiefly  acting,"  said  Sebastian, 
wiping  from  his  forehead  the  drops  of  sweat 
that  were  standing  there.  "I  am  afraid  I  have 
alarmed  you  in  trying  to  piece  out  that  narra 
tive  with  which  you  might  have  to  satisfy  your 
pensioner." 

"She  will  not  be  mine,  but  yours,"  replied 
Dorothy,  quickly. 

'Yes,  mine;  and  I  fully  accept  the  respon 
sibility  for  her." 

"But,"  said  Dorothy,  who  had  been  early 
trained  to  uprightness,  "I  could  not  write  her 
such  a  tissue  of — invention  as  that." 

"It  would  be  writing  her  the  probabilities 
of  the  case,"  observed  Sebastian, — "what  did 
occur,  you  may  be  sure,  if  her  mother  spoke 
the  truth;  and  what  the  man  must  have  felt, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  269 

especially  when  he  grew  older  and  nearer  the 
eternal  realities." 

"I  don't  believe  such  a  man — I  mean  a  man 
who  could  have  acted  that  way — would  have 
any  such  feelings  at  all,"  answered  Dorothy, 
emphatically. 

'You  would  regard  him,"  said  Sebastian, 
with  an  almost  ghastly  smile  upon  his  face, 
"as  altogether  monstrous  and  unnatural.  But 
believe  me,  dear  Miss  Kent,  my  version  is 
probably  nearer  the  truth,  or  will  best  serve 
to  allay  Elmira's  suspicions." 

In  the  silence  that  ensued  Dorothy,  who  had 
arisen,  slowly  reseated  herself,  while  Sebastian 
resumed : 

"And,  in  this  man's  defence,  it  must  be 
admitted  that  Elmira  left  him." 

"Only  after  a  long  course  of  what  might 
be  called  strained  relations,  if  not  actual  ill 
usage,"  said  Dorothy.  'The  details  of  all  that, 
we  shall  never  know  now.  And  the  man,  I 
am  sure,  if  he  had  taken  the  proper  measures, 
and  especially  if  he  were  rich,  could  have 
found  her  again." 

"Is  that  quite  certain?"  asked  Sebastian, 
thinking  of  his  own  experience. 

"It  is  at  least  quite  probable,"  rejoined 
Dorothy. 

Now,  while  they  had  been  talking,  Dorothy 
was  aware  of  a  new  chain  of  sympathy  that 
seemed  to  bind  her  to  Sebastian;  though  into 
her  mind,  too,  had  come  the  vague  insinuations 


2yo  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

which  Mrs.  Rollins,  in  her  anxiety  to  warn 
her  against  the  young  man,  had  repeated;  and 
also  the  anxiety  which  Mrs.  Alfred  had  professed 
to  feel  that  the  youngest  of  the  Wilmot  brothers 
had  given  up  the  practice  of  his  religion. 

"There  is  one  point  in  that  letter,"  she  said 
rather  abruptly,  "that  I  suppose  you  noticed, 
and  that  pleased  me  very  much.  It  is  that 
poor  Elmira  has  at  last  done  what  I  so  often 
implored  her  to  do — turned  to  religion  for 
consolation.  During  her  wandering  life  after 
her  mother's  death,  she  had  become  a  convert 
to  the  Church,  but  had  not  kept  faithful  to 
its  practices.  Just  lately  she  told  me  that  she 
had  sent  for  a  priest  and  gone  to  confession." 

Sebastian  made  no  comment,  and  Dorothy 
continued : 

"Don't  you  think  that's  very  fortunate? 
For,  whatever  trouble  people  are  in,  they  only 
make  it  worse  by  neglecting  their  religion. 
I  would  almost  rather  see  any  one  I  cared  for 
dead  than  doing  such  a  thing." 

Her  small  face  glowed  with  the  ardor  of  the 
sentiment  and  the  intensity  of  her  feeling; 
and,  though  that  last  sentence  had  appeared 
rather  irrelevant  to  the  subject  of  Elmira,  it 
moved  Sebastian  profoundly. 

' '  If  any  one  were  happy  enough  to  know 
that  you  cared  for  him,"  he  said,  "he  must  be 
swayed  by  your  slightest  wish." 

There  was  an  intense  vibrant  pause.  Both 
were  keyed  up  to  a  pitch  of  feeling  that  made 


further  words  difficult,  yet  urgently  necessary 
to  be  spoken.  Nor  did  Dorothy  notice  the  fact 
that  Sebastian  had  used  the  masculine  pronoun, 
as  if  it  were  no  longer  Elmira  but  one  of  his 
sex  that  she  indicated. 

' '  It  would  be  the  first  thing  I  should  ask 
of  any  one  in  whom  I  was  interested,"  said 
Dorothy,— "to  be  faithful  first  of  all  to  God." 

"A  man  for  whom  you  cared  and  who  loved 
you,"  answered  Sebastian  (and  his  voice  seemed 
to  ring  through  the  room  in  the  force  of  the 
declaration),  "would  be  as  wax  in  your  hands." 

"And  it  would  be  worth  caring  for  him  and 
a  true  test  of  his  love,"  said  the  girl,  "if  for 
my  sake  he  should  go  back  to  God." 

"Only  in  that  way,"  agreed  Sebastian,  " could 
he  make  himself  worthy  of  you,  and  he  would 
sweep  out  of  his  path  whatever  obstacles 
might  come  between." 

It  was  a  singular  conversation,  and  it  left 
them  both  trembling  with  excitement.  Dorothy 
was  the  first  to  recover  herself. 

"Are  we  still  talking  fiction? "she  said,  with 
a  sweet  smile  that  very  nearly  caused  Sebastian 
to  forget  everything  and  to  break  forth  into 
the  declaration  that  trembled  upon  his  lips. 
For  he  was  asking  himself  in  a  tumult  of  joy,  if 
the  words  that  she  had  spoken  could  have 
meant  anything  except  an  appeal  to  him  to 
do  that  which  would  please  her  best  of  all. 
Never  had  the  chain  of  silence  galled  as  at  that 
moment.  But  he  answered  her  question  in  a 


272  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

tone  that  was  perfectly  light,  and  as  devoid 
of  feeling  as  he  could  make  it: 

"  It  is  a  fiction  that  you  and  I  must  hold  for 
truth,  since  truth  and  fiction  are  often  singularly 
interwoven." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Dorothy 
was  gaining  the  mastery  over  the  emotion  that 
had  possessed  her,  and  likewise  perhaps  re 
proaching  herself  that  in  her  religious  zeal  she 
had  gone  too  far. 

"Mrs.  Rollins  says,"  she  remarked,  "that  I 
am  always  putting  unnecessary  enthusiasm 
into  my  statement  of  facts." 

' '  Enthusiasm  is  the  leaven  that  lights  our 
dull  monotony,"  observed  Sebastian,  glad  to 
find  himself  safe  back  in  generalities,  and  yet 
with  a  longing  to  let  her  know  that  he  under 
stood  and  valued  all  that  she  had  implied: 
"If  women  always  felt  as  you  do,"  he  said, 
"they  would  cement  their  friendships  with  the 
other  sex,  and  make  their  love  indestructible. " 

' '  I  am  afraid  they  would  not  always  be  able 
to  accomplish  that,"  replied  Dorothy,  with 
something  that  was  half  wistful  in  her  expres 
sion.  "In  fact,  it  often  seems  as  if  those  who 
turn  away  from  all  such  things  have  the 
strongest  influence." 

"Never  believe  it!"  cried  Sebastian.  "While 
there  is  a  spark  of  chivalry  remaining,  and 
unless  a  man  be  wholly  debased,  what  is  best 
must  always  most  strongly  support  other 
attractions." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  273 

"Of  course  it  would  be  the  ideal  way,"  said 
Dorothy,  thoughtfully;  "and  I  suppose  it 
does  sometimes  happen." 

It  was  on  Sebastian's  lips  to  say  that  it  must 
often  have  happened  in  her  case,  but  he 
refrained;  and  Dorothy  went  on: 

"How  curiously  we  have  strayed  from  the 
subject  of  Elmira!" 

The  words  recalled  Sebastian  more  forcibly 
than  anything  else  could  have  done  to  the 
perils  of  untoward  complications  in  which  he 
had  placed  himself,  and  reminded  him  how 
treacherous  were  these  meadows  of  living  green 
into  which  he  had  permitted  his  feet  to  wander. 

"Yes,  we  have  strayed,"  he  assented,— 
seeing  the  necessity  of  abandoning  that  danger 
ous  ground,  and  yet  the  absolute  impossibility 
of  continuing  the  conversation  on  trivial  subjects 
after  the  climax  which  had  been  reached  and 
passed  between  them. 

"On  due  consideration,"  he  began  again  in 
an  ordinary  tone,  taking  a  notebook  from  his 
pocket,  "I  will  make  out  the  cheque  to  Elmira 
herself  instead  of  to  you." 

;'Yes,  that  will  be  better,"  acquiesced  Dor 
othy,  still  a  little  breathless  from  her  late 
emotion. 

"If  you  will  give  me  her  full  name?" 

This  Dorothy  did,  with  little  suspicion  that, 
since  it  was  the  mother's  maiden  name,  Sebas 
tian  was  already  familiar  with  it  from  his 
father's  papers. 


274  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"You  can  tell  her,"  said  Sebastian,  laugh 
ingly,  "that  I  am  not  the  man  himself,  but 
am  acting  as  his  agent." 

' '  I  hope  no  improbability  will  strike  her 
in  our  narrative,"  observed  Dorothy,  with  a 
troubled  face;  "though  I  think  not,  for  she 
was  so  fully  persuaded  that  the  truth  must 
come  to  light  that  she  will  be  ready  to  believe 
anything." 

"We  shall  not  make  the  sums  too  large  at 
first,"  said  Sebastian;  "but  we  can  go  on 
increasing  them  till  I  shall  feel  that  I  am 
carrying  out  the  wishes  of  this  man,  whom 
I  can  not  consent  to  consider  a  monster,  and 
whom  I  feel  sure  I  shall  discover." 

He  came  to  a  sudden  resolution,  while 
Dorothy's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him. 

"I  may  as  well  tell  you  what  I  meant  at 
first  to  keep  secret;  that,  from  the  facts  with 
which  you  previously  supplied  me,  I  am  almost 
certain  of  being  upon  his  track  already." 

Dorothy's  glance  became  penetrating  as  she 
asked : 

"Is  that  truth  or  fiction?" 

His  eyes  met  her  own  fearlessly,  while  he 
declared  so  solemnly  that  she  could  not  choose 
but  believe  him: 

"  It  is  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing 
but  the  truth.  But,  oh,  you  will  see  yourself 
how  greater  than  ever  is  the  need  of  secrecy! 
For,  by  the  least  imprudence,  such  ruin  and 
unhappiness  would  be  brought  to  many  persons 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  275 

as  you  can  scarcely  imagine.  With  the  further 
information  that  I  have  received  to-day,  I 
shall  be  able  to  assure  myself  that  my  hopes 
are  realized;  but  the  slightest  indiscretion 
would  be  disastrous." 

"You  may  trust  me, — you  may  trust  me 
entirely!"  cried  Dorothy,  joyfully.  Her  last 
doubts  and  fears  were  removed  by  this  avowal, 
which  she  accepted  without  suspicion,  and 
which  seemed,  moreover,  to  account  for  any 
strangeness  in  Sebastian's  manner.  "I  would 
rather  die  than  bring  such  trouble  upon  others, 
or  cause  you  to  regret  your  generous  interest 
in  Elmira.  I  will  ask  you  no  more  questions, 
and  the  subject  shall  never  be  mentioned 
between  us,  unless  by  yourself." 

"It  is  a  subject  that  will  not  bear  discus 
sion,"  Sebastian  assured  her  gravely. 

There  seemed  nothing  more  that  could  be 
said;  and,  though  the  temptation  was  strong 
to  linger,  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I  fear,"  he  declared,  "that  Mrs.  Rollins 
will  feel  that  I  am  abusing  the  kind  permission 
she  has  given  me,  and  overstaying  all  decent 
bounds." 

Dorothy  followed  him  to  the  threshold  of 
the  drawing-room  and  stood  framed  in  its 
arched  door;  while  Sebastian  took  his  hat 
from  where  the  servant  had  placed  it,  and  drew 
on  a  pair  of  gloves. 

"I  hope,"  said  the  girl,  and  her  tone  was 
very  grave  and  quiet,  "that  you  will  not 


276  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

agree  with  Mrs.  Rollins  in  thinking  me  too 
frank  and  too  emphatic  in  the  statement  of 
my  opinions." 

"I  will  think,"  he  answered  slowly,  "how 
your  words  may  be  applied  even  to  those  who 
are  happy  in  being  on  the  mere  outskirts  of 
your  friendship." 

Saying  which  he  passed  out  on  to  the  thor 
oughfare,  where  Fashion  was  in  full  swing  at 
that  hour,  and  where  he  met  and  returned 
mechanically  the  salutations  of  at  least  a 
score  of  acquaintances.  For  his  thoughts, 
varied  and  tumultuous  as  they  had  been  that 
afternoon,  were  dominated  just  then  by  the 
remembrance  of  Dorothy  as  she  had  appeared 
at  that  last  moment,  framed  in  the  dark  arch 
of  the  door,  and  uttering  her  gravely  spoken 
apology  for  something  which  had  filled  him 
with  deepest  joy.  Never  had  she  appealed  to 
him  with  a  stronger  or  more  subtle  force  than 
at  that  last  moment. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  277 


XIX. 

GREAT  was  Sebastian's  relief  at  the  certainty 
that  had  come  to  him.  He  seemed  at  last  to 
stand  upon  solid  earth  instead  of  upon  the 
marsh  lands  of  suspense.  The  spectre  which 
he  had  often  evoked — a  woman  appearing  at 
some  time  to  claim  what  was  hers,  and  to  make 
public  perhaps  what  he  had  labored  so  hard 
to  keep  secret — was  laid  forever.  But  the  pathos 
of  the  story  sank  deep  into  his  sensitive  nature, 
all  the  more  that  she  had  faded  away,  so  far 
as  this  life  was  concerned,  into  the  ultimate 
darkness,  without  asserting  any  claim.  He 
was,  in  consequence,  still  more  anxious  to  do 
justice  to  the  living  daughter  and  to  put  her 
into  immediate  possession  of  whatever  was 
hers. 

Here,  however,  the  utmost  discretion  had 
to  be  used.  He  had  not  realized  how  difficult 
it  would  be;  for,  as  much  as  possible,  his  own 
personality  had  to  be  kept  in  the  background 
in  all  the  necessary  business  formalities.  He 
had  simplified  things,  in  one  direction,  by 
explaining  to  Dorothy,  and  through  her  to 
Elmira,  that  the  unknown  father  had  been 
found,  but  that  for  that  very  reason  the  utmost 


27S  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

secrecy  was  imperative.  Such  an  explanation 
could  not,  of  course,  be  given  to  lawyers  and 
bankers  by  whom  the  affair  had  to  be  trans 
acted.  Still,  it  would  have  to  be  done;  and,  in 
the  eyes  of  the  discreet  old  lawyer  to  whom  he 
had  resolved  to  entrust  the  case,  the  woman 
would  have  to  pass  as  a  relative  of  his  father, 
whom,  it  was  not  advisable  or  necessary  to  bring 
to  the  notice  of  the  rest  of  the  family.  If  the 
shrewd  man  of  affairs  suspected  anything 
further, — well,  lawyers  as  a  class  are  able  to 
hold  their  tongues.  The  work  of  their  offices 
brings  to  life  every  day  the  dry  bones  of  the 
dead,  and  the  skeletons  by  which  families  are 
haunted,  and  clothes  them  with  a  sinister 
vitality.  The  chief  danger,  however,  was  the 
prying  of  Alfred  and  of  his  wife,  whose  in- 
quisitiveness  and  malice  lent  her  a  hundred 
eyes. 

It  pleased  the  young  man  to  think,  amongst 
minor  things,  that  he  would  now  be  in  a 
position  to  gratify  his  mother's  long-expressed 
desire  to  get  rid  of  the  house;  only  he  did  not 
want  to  be  premature,  and  appear  to  change 
his  mind  too  suddenly;  so  he  thought  it  better 
to  leave  that  matter  in  abeyance  while  the 
others  were  being  transacted.  For  his  consent 
to  the  sale  of  the  house  would  bring  into 
play  the  full  battery  of  Mrs.  Alfred's  curiosity. 
But  the  discovery  of  the  first  Elmira's  death 
and  of  the  identity  of  her  daughter  left  Sebas 
tian,  in  other  respects,  precisely  where  he  had 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  279 

been.  The  secrecy  imposed  upon  him  became 
more  binding,  now  that  the  sin  of  his  father 
had  taken  a  concrete  form,  and  that  one 
Elrnira  at  least  had  come  forth  from  the  region 
of  shadows  to  that  of  definite  reality. 

While  Sebastian  was  thus  busier  than  ever 
with  those  secret  and  delicate  negotiations, 
Margie  had  striven  to  remove  from  his  mind 
every  trace  of  the  unpleasantness  that  had 
marred  their  last  interview.  He  met  her  one 
afternoon,  very  soon  after  that  memorable 
visit  to  Dorothy.  She  was  walking  up  the 
street  near  their  house,  in  a  new  costume  and 
toque  of  brown  that  made  her,  he  thought, 
exceedingly  pretty.  He  was  coming,  as  he  had 
punctually  done  for  years,  homeward  at  that 
hour  "when  daylight  melts."  It  had  become 
his  custom  since  his  father's  death  to  walk 
all  the  way  home,  instead  of  availing  himself 
of  any  of  the  public  conveyances.  And  it  was 
a  significant  but  characteristic  fact  that  he 
never  could  persuade  himself,  no  matter  how 
bad  the  weather  might  be,  to  make  use  of  the 
carriage  and  drive  home  as  he  had  done  on  that 
last  momentous  day  with  his  father.  The 
iron  of  that  tragical  happening  and  its  after 
effects  had  entered  too  deeply  into  his  soul. 

Margie,  hastening  forward,  linked  her  arm 
in  his  affectionately. 

"If  you  are  not  too  tired,  Sebastian,"  she 
said,  "we  will  come  into  the  Park  and  walk 
a  little.  I  want  to  tell  you  something." 


280  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

He  agreed,  nothing  loath;  though  the  trees 
there  were  bare,  and  such  of  their  leaves  as 
had  not  been  swept  from  the  path  lingered  at 
intervals,  like  distressful  reminders, — the  mem 
ories  that  cling  even  about  little  things,  and 
arise  to  dog  the  footsteps  at  every  turn.  There 
was  a  chilly  wind  sweeping  about;  and  the 
grass,  dry  and  sere,  remained  mournfully  fixed 
to  its  place,  like  lives  that  have  lost  all  their 
attractiveness. 

"Now,"  said  Margie,  shivering  a  little,  and 
with  her  disengaged  hand  turning  up  the 
collar  of  her  coat,  "I  just  want  to  say  a  word 
to  you  about — what  we  were  talking  over  the 
other  day." 

"About  Dr.  Dever?"  he  said,  smiling  down 
upon  her. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "And  I  may  as  well 
begin  by  saying  that  I  can  not  give  him  up. 
I  have  decided,  and  I  have  told  him  so." 

Sebastian  suppressed  a  sigh.  For  what  could 
he  say  in  answer  to  such  a  statement?  And 
what,  after  all,  could  he  do?  If  Margie  persisted 
in  her  very  natural  wish  to  secure  her  own 
happiness  (and  the  remembrance  of  Dorothy 
enabled  him  fully  to  understand  that  wish), 
the  alternative  would  lie  between  that  silence 
being  broken  or  permitting  Gerald  to  marry 
without  being  informed  of  how  matters  really 
stood.  He  reflected  that  possibly  the  latter 
alternative  might  be  the  better,  now  that 
there  was  no  longer  any  danger  of  a  public 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  281 

scandal;  and  yet  his  own  ideas,  overstrained 
though  they  might  be,  pointed  in  the  former 
direction. 

"It  would  be  very  absurd,  too,  to  give  him 
up  without  a  reason,"  Margie  went  on. 

"Unhappily,"  said  Sebastian,  "there  is  a 
reason.  But  perhaps,  before  we  discuss  that 
further,  you  had  better  say  all  that  you  in 
tended  to  say." 

"Well,  it  is  this.  Gerald  has  promised  to 
wait  a  whole  year,  in  the  hope  of  gaining  your 
consent." 

"Margie,"  cried  Sebastian,  "my  dear,  dear 
little  Margie,  do  you  think  for  one  instant 
that  the  matter  depends  merely  on  my  consent? 
Why,  you  ought  to  know  that  I  would  do  any 
thing  on  earth  to  make  you  happy." 

He  spoke  with  a  kind  of  desperation;  for 
what  likelihood  was  there  that  even  this  sister, 
who  had  always  been  so  closely  bound  to  him, 
could  understand? 

"I  know  that,  Sebastian,"  Margie  replied; 
' '  and  1  feel  perfectly  sure  that  you  have  a 
good  reason  for  your  opposition;  though,  of 
course,  it  is  hard  to  see  what  it  can  be." 

"1  feel  bound  to  tell  you,"  said  Sebastian, 
"that,  glad  as  I  may  be  of  the  respite,  I  do 
not  see  that  matters  will  be  any  different  a 
year  hence." 

Margie  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  dismay. 

"Well,  what  shall  we  do,  then?"  she  ex 
claimed, — "I  mean  Gerald  and  I?" 


282  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Sebastian,  and  his 
tone  of  weary  despondency  touched  Margie 
more  deeply  than  any  argument  he  could  have 
used.  A  few  stray  leaves  went  whirling  past 
them ;  the  sombre  sky  of  late  autumn  was  above 
their  heads;  there  was  a  menace  of  coming 
winter  in  the  whole  atmosphere. 

"Sebastian,"    said    Margie,    after    a    pause, 
"wouldn't  it  be  better  to  trust  me  entirely,— 
to  open  your  whole  mind  to  me?    I  am  not  a 
child  now,  and  I  could  judge  for  myself." 

"That  would  be  the  better  way,  of  course," 
said  Sebastian,  "if  only  it  could  be  done." 

She  thought  he  was  talking  very  strangely; 
for  common-sense  was  one  of  the  strongest 
attributes  of  this  girl,  who  was  now  divided 
between  the  love  for  her  brother  and  respect 
for  his  opinion,  that  had  become  second  nature, 
and  that  new  and  strong  affection  which  had 
been  growing  and  strengthening  for  many 
months. 

"Sebastian,"  she  said,  "if  there  is  really 
anything  in  all  this — and  of  course  there  must 
be,  since  you  say  so, — then,  if  you  can  not 
trust  me,  you  should  trust  some  one,  and  I 
will  tell  you  whom." 

He  knew  what  she  was  going  to  say  before 
the  words  had  formed  themselves  on  her 
lips. 

"You  remember  that  dear  old  priest  who 
came  to  tell  us  the  good  news  about  father? 
Well,  he  is  the  one.  You  can  trust  him  entirely, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  283 

even  outside  of  confession.     And  think  what 
an  adviser  he  would  make!" 

Now,  this  very  resolution  had  been  forming 
itself  in  the  young  man's  mind,  particularly 
since  the  words  that  Rosanna  had  spoken,  and 
the  talk  which  he  had  had  with  Dorothy  Kent. 
The  expressions  that  she  had  used,  the  wishes 
she  had  uttered,  whether  he  might  dare  to 
apply  them  to  himself  or  not,  were  to  be  re 
spected  as  commands. 

"Perhaps  I  should  not  speak  of  this,"  said 
Margie,  thus  lending  her  weight  to  those  strong 
influences  that  were  impelling  him  toward 
that  decision.  "But  scarcely  anything  ever 
made  me  feel  so  bad  as  I  felt  when  I  found 
out,  only  lately,  that  you  had  given  up  going 
to  church,  just  like— 

He  knew  it  was  on  her  lips  to  say  "just  like 
poor  father."  But  she  restrained  herself,  as 
if  she  would  not  thus  utter  condemnation  of 
the  dead. 

"For  you  know  very  well,  Sebastian,"  she 
went  on,  "that  that  is  the  greatest  misfortune 
that  can  possibly  happen  to  any  one." 

Sebastian  was  silent,  feeling  the  truth  of 
her  words  into  the  very  depths  of  his  soul. 
For  never  had  he  realized  what  the  sustaining 
power  of  religion  might  be  more  fully  than 
when  he  had  cast  it  aside. 

"You  won't  mind  my  saying  this  to  you, 
dear?"  observed  Margie. 

The  young  man  put  his  hand  gently  upon 


19 


284  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

the  small  gloved  one  of  his  sister  that  rested 
upon  his  arm. 

"You  may  be  sure,  Margie,"  he  replied, 
"that  I  don't  mind  anything  you  feel  inclined 
to  say  to  me.  And  in  this  case  I  know  only 
too  well  that  you  are  perfectly  right." 

"You  see,"  continued  Margie,  thus  encour 
aged,  "everyone  that  is  interested  in  you  must 
feel   the   same, — mother   of   course    (though    I 
don't  think  she  knows),  Rosanna,  myself,  and— 
Dorothy  Kent." 

A  swift  flush  rose  to  Sebastian's  face  and 
mounted  to  his  very  hair. 

"For  she  is  interested  in  you,  I  don't  care 
what  any  one  says;  and  I  know  that,  though 
she  couldn't  speak  to  you,  she  thinks  it  just 
heartbreaking  that  you  should  give  up  your 
religion." 

"Margie,  Margie,"  cried  Sebastian  in  a  hoarse 
voice,  "don't  tell  me  these  things!  Don't  tell 
me  anything  she  may  have  said.  I  have  no 
right  to  hear  it." 

"You  have  a  right  to  hear  what  is  for  your 
good,"  said  Margie,  decidedly;  "and  it  dis 
tressed  Dorothy  ever  so  much  when  that 
wretched  Mrs.  Alfred  went  and  told  her.  So 
since  then  we  are  all  banded  together  against 
you  in  this;  and  the  three  of  us — Rosanna  and 
she  and  I — are  praying  very  hard." 

"Praying  for  me!"  said  Sebastian,  almost 
awestricken.  "God  knows  I  need  prayers." 

But  it  gave  him  a  delicious  thrill  of  joy  to 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  285 

think  that  Dorothy  had  joined  the  league  of 
those  who,  with  the  exception  of  his  mother, 
loved  him  best  of  all.  The  fact  was  significant, 
and  it  filled  him  for  the  moment  with  such 
happiness  that  it  was  hard  for  him  to  steady 
himself  and  to  speak  in  an  ordinary  tone. 

"Well,"  he  remarked,  "I  think  I  must  do 
something  toward  the  success  of  this  league 
that  has  been  formed,  and  to  show  the  efficacy 
of  prayers  from  such  sources." 

His  tone  was  half  jesting,  but  the  concession 
made  Margie's  eyes  sparkle  with  joy. 

"I  set  Gerald  Dever  praying,  too,"  she  said, 
with  a  natural  desire  to  bring  the  Doctor 
within  this  charmed  circle  of  the  affections; 
"only,  of  course,  I  did  not  tell  him  the  object 
of  our  prayers.  He  was  as  enthusiastic  about 
it  as  some  men  might  be  about  sport.  And 
he  is  such  a  splendid  Catholic,  taking  the 
Church  and  its  interests  really  to  heart  as  if 
they  were  his  own!  Oh,  you  will  like  him, 
Sebastian,  when  you  get  to  know  him,  and 
when  everything  conies  right ! ' ' 

"When  he  shall  have  ceased  to  think  of 
me  as  the  ogre.  But  I  am  sure,  as  you  say, 
I  shall  like  him;  for  I  could  trust  your  judg 
ment,  Margie.  You  would  never  be  satisfied 
with  an  inferior  article." 

"I  haven't  made  any  mistake  in  Gerald," 
the  girl  said  earnestly;  "and  it  will  be  a  great 
thing  to  marry  a  man  of  whom  I  can  always 
feel  proud." 


286  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"Yes,  that  would  be  a  great  thing,  Margie," 
agreed  Sebastian. 

They  walked  nearly  half  round  the  enclosure 
before  Sebastian  spoke  again. 

"Seriously,  Margie,  it  must  have  been  all 
those  prayers  you  were  saying  for  me  that 
have  constantly  impelled  me  of  late  to  go  to 
see  that  priest,  and  at  least  have  a  long  talk 
with  him." 

"O  you  dear  Sebastian!"  cried  Margie, 
stopping  and  looking  up  into  his  face.  "Then 
you  will  make  us  all  so  happy!" 

"I  shall  dispense  happiness  easily  then,  like 
a  grand  monarch,"  he  said,  laughing;  "though 
I  seem  powerless  to  do  it  in  other  ways.  And, 
after  all,  my  conversion  may  not  be  so  difficult 
a  matter.  For,  though  I  now  realize  fully 
how  terrible  a  thing  it  was  for  me  to  give  up 
my  religious  duties  for  any  reason  whatever, 
in  other  ways  I  have  not  strayed  so  far." 

"That's   what    I    was   saying   to    Dorothy— 
that,  except  in  the  one  thing,  which  happened 
only  lately,  you  were  the  best,  the  most— 

"Come,  come!"  cried  Sebastian.  "You 
mustn't  canonize  me  before  I  have  even  been 
converted." 

But  he  could  not  repress  a  feeling  of  gratifi 
cation  at  the  thought  of  how  this  warm-hearted 
little  advocate  had  argued  his  cause  with 
Dorothy. 

"And  I  should  just  like,"  went  on  Margie, 
"when  you  have  been  'converted,'  as  you  say, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  287 

not  to  tell  Mrs.  Alfred  a  word  about  it,  but  to 
let  her  go  round  pulling  a  long  face  and  making 
a  dote  of  herself." 

Sebastian  gave  the  first  hearty  laugh  that 
he  had  indulged  in  for  many  a  day,  and  one 
that  sounded  perfectly  natural  on  his  lips. 

' '  Hurrah  for  Margie  when  she  goes  on  the 
warpath!"  he  said.  "She's  a  splendid  fighter, 
and  convinces  us  that  she's  not  quite  ready  to 
take  wings  yet." 

"I  know  it  is  uncharitable,"  admitted 
Margie,—  -"  downright  wicked,  perhaps.  But  she 
makes  me  feel  that  way  every  day,  and  es 
pecially  where  you  are  concerned." 

"Don't  mind  her,"  said  Sebastian.  "The 
most  malicious  people  only  do  harm  to  them 
selves  in  the  end." 

For  he  was  thinking  that  when  a  dagger 
has  pierced  one's  heart  one  takes  but  little 
heed  of  the  stings  of  a  wasp.  Indeed,  he  was 
greatly  comforted  by  what  Margie  had  told 
him,  and  also  by  the  determination,  which  he 
had  been  slowly  forming,  to  emerge  from  the 
outer  dreariness  into  the  circle  of  light  which 
she  had  indicated.  He  began  to  realize  that 
his  fear  of  what  the  priest  might  advise  was 
only  the  phantom  of  a  mind  that  had  been 
suffering  from  the  abnormal  strain  put  upon 
it,  and  that  his  best  chance  of  peace  and  happi 
ness  could  come  from  the  influence  of  re 
ligion. 

That  evening  he  was  comparatively  happy, 


288  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

and  more  cheerful  than  he  had  felt  for  a  long 
time;  though  he  was  busied  until  a  late  hour 
with  the  arrangements  he  was  making  for 
Elmira.  He  had  done  a  good  deal  of  that 
particular  business  in  the  seclusion  of  home; 
and  had  held  interviews  with  his  lawyer,  and 
the  notary  by  him  chosen,  in  that  selfsame 
room,  where  he  had  learned  his  father's  secret 
and  agonized  on  that  awful  night  following 
his  death.  This  was  done  to  shield  the  matter 
from  Alfred's  impertinent  curiosity.  For  he 
knew  that,  despite  his  remonstrances,  it  was 
still  his  elder  brother's  habit  to  ask  all  sorts 
of  questions  from  the  clerks  and  others  in  his 
employ,  with  regard  to  himself,  his  personal 
habits,  and  his  proceedings.  He  also  visited 
for  this  purpose  such  lawyers  and  notaries  as 
Sebastian  had  dealings  with,  and  put  them 
through  a  regular  catechism. 

It  was  fortunate  that  in  the  matter  of 
Elmira  his  father  had  tried  to  simplify  every 
thing  as  much  as  possible,  having  put  aside 
a  sum  of  money  and  certain  properties,  to  be 
used  in  her  behalf  by  his  younger  son,  Sebastian. 
And,  as  previously  stated,  he  had  left  the 
house  in  Gramercy  Park  as  a  kind  of  security 
for  the  whole,  until  all  her  claim  should  be 
satisfied.  And  he  had  chosen  to  employ  that 
selfsame  lawyer  whom  Sebastian,  left  to  himself, 
had  selected,  and  who  was  totally  separate 
from  those  other  legal  functionaries  who  did 
business  for  the  firm.  This  man  could  be 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  289 

trusted  to  withstand  Alfred  and  to  take  satis 
faction  in  mystifying  and  baffling  him. 

When  Alfred  had  become  aware  of  this 
gentleman's  visits  to  the  house,  through  the 
accidental  circumstance  of  meeting  him  on 
the  stairs,  he  never  rested  until  he  had  put 
him  through  a  series  of  inquiries  as  to  why 
Sebastian  should  have  dealings  with  him  when 
he  was  not  the  lawyer  of  the  firm.  The  latter 
had  shrewdly  remarked  that  Wilmot  &  Co. 
was  not  the  only  firm  in  New  York,  and  had 
given  the  inquirer  to  understand  that  he  was 
acting  in  the  interests  of  one  of  those  other 
firms  with  which  Sebastian  had  amalgamated. 
And  this,  Alfred,  by  further  probing  and  by 
a  visit  to  the  firm  in  question,  had  discovered 
to  be  true. 

"He's  up  to  some  mischief,"  Alfred  remarked 
to  his  wife ;  ' '  for  lawyers  do  not  go  to  business 
men's  houses  unless  there  is  something  unusual." 

"Keep  your  ears  and  eyes  open,  then," 
answered  his  wife.  "If  he's  plotting  anything 
new  against  us,  we'll  find  it  out  somehow  or 
other." 


290  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 


XX. 

FORTUNATELY,  Mrs.  Wilmot  had  relented  toward 
her  younger  son  to  the  extent  that  she  spoke 
to  him,  much  as  usual,  upon  all  ordinary 
affairs,  and  accepted  the  unobtrusive  and  kindly 
attentions  which  he  showered  upon  her.  In 
fact,  she  was  not  a  person  to  bear  malice  very 
long.  Naturally  cheerful,  emotional,  and  easy 
going,  it  made  her  uncomfortable  to  be  upon 
strained  terms  with  any  of  those  about  her; 
so  that  affairs  soon  drifted  back  to  something 
of  their  old  status,  in  so  far  as  surface  condi 
tions  were  concerned.  But  the  deep  wells  of 
love  and  confidence  once  rudely  disturbed  are 
not  so  easily  restored  to  their  former  placidity. 

The  son  had  never  ceased  to  love  his  mother, 
since  the  affection  for  her  had  always  been  one 
of  the  deepest  springs  of  his  nature;  but  it 
was  in  a  manner  altogether  different.  The 
old,  trusting,  enthusiastic  fondness  had  given 
place  to  something  subdued,  something  cau 
tious, — afraid  to  draw  too  near,  lest  full  con 
fidence  might  be  invited  or  unrestricted  con 
cessions  demanded. 

As  for  Mrs.  Wilmot,  the  natural  grief  that 
she  had  felt  at  her  husband's  death  had  gradu- 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  291 

ally  faded  almost  entirely  away.  It  could  not 
long  find  an  abiding  place  in  one-  of  her  tem 
perament.  She  hated  gloom,  and  was  sincerely 
glad  when  its  outward  symbols  could  be 
gradually  eliminated  from  the  house  and  from 
her  attire.  She  was  as  keen  as  ever  in  her 
enjoyment  of  society,  taking  an  almost  childish 
interest  in  all  that  appertained  thereto.  To 
her,  all  the  mysteries  of  the  dressmaker  and 
milliner  were  sacred;  and  she  could  become 
as  entirely  absorbed  in  a  new  fashion,  the 
material  or  design  of  a  costume,  the  adjust 
ment  of  a  feather  or  an  aigrette  in  her  head 
gear,  as  in  the  political  destinies  of  a  nation. 
Not  that  she  was  wholly  frivolous.  She  was 
fond  of  a  certain  kind  of  reading,  in  which  she 
sometimes  showed  both  taste  and  discrimina 
tion.  She  had  her  serious  moments,  too,  when 
religion  seemed  really  to  have  a  hold  upon  her, 
and  when  she  deplored  her  own  weakness  and 
a  certain  laxity  that  had  crept  into  the  house 
hold.  She  was,  in  the  main,  an  amiable  char 
acter,  and  it  was  through  some  of  her  best 
traits  that  a  malign  influence  had  been  able 
to  reach  her. 

She  was  looking  especially  well  on  a  certain 
November  evening  when  Alfred  and  his  wife 
and  Louis  had  been  dining  at  home,  thus 
completing  the  family  party.  Soon  after  the 
meal  had  been  concluded,  Sebastian  left  with 
Margie,  whom  he  was  taking  to  the  theatre, 
to  see  a  certain  great  actor  in  a  Shakespearean 


292  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

recital.  It  must  be  owned  that  both  felt  a 
certain  relief  in  being  spared  a  long  evening 
under  Mrs.  Alfred's  penetrating  eyes  and  per 
petual  smile,  together  with  the  pompous  dulness 
of  brother  Alfred. 

The  talk  stretched  onward  rather  drearily 
after  they  had  gone.  Alfred  was  giving  his 
mother  a  verbose  account  of  some  happening 
at  the  court,  during  which  Louis  beat  an  im 
patient  tattoo  upon  the  table;  and  Mrs.  Alfred, 
who  never  listened  to  her  husband's  stories, 
observed  him. 

"Well,  that  is  wonderful,  Alfred!"  said  the 
mother.  "And  to  think  that  you  could  manage 
such  an  affair  yourself  without  any  outside 
help!" 

At  these  words  there  was  an  ironical  look 
upon  Louis'  face,  which  Mrs.  Alfred  both  saw 
and  understood. 

"Oh,"  said  Alfred,  waving  his  hand  in 
deprecation,  "such  things  are  the  common 
places  of  the  law!  We  meet  with  them  every 
day.  We  deal  with  them  as  they  come  to  us. 
Their  details  are  usually  of  trifling  impor 
tance." 

"All  except  the  fees,"  put  in  Louis,  "which 
are  never  what  might  be  called  trifling." 

"Well,  no, — well,  no,"  stammered  Alfred, 
laughing  his  peculiarly  fatuous  laugh,  which 
was  always  exasperating  to  Louis, — unreason 
ably,  too,  since  it  was  something  beyond  his 
brother's  control.  "The  fees,  as  you  justly 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  293 

observe,  are  not  trifling.  But,  then,  they  do 
not  come  out  of  a  legal  man's  pocket." 

"No:  they  generally  reverse  that  proceed 
ing,"  said  Louis.  "And  half  the  time  a  little 
common-sense  would  have  settled  the  matter 
without  any  fees  at  all." 

' '  My  dear  brother,  that  is  a  mistake  often 
made  by  laymen, — I  mean  those  outside  of 
the  legal  fraternity.  They  do  not  take  account 
of  the  subtleties  of  the  law— 

"Until  they  get  the  bill,"  said  Louis. 

"Don't  medical  men  ever  send  bills?"  put 
in  Mrs.  Alfred,  very  sweetly,  as  she  turned 
to  him. 

"To  be  sure  they  do, — good,  rousing  ones, 
too;  and  very  often  they  also  might  be  saved 
by  common-sense.  I  wish  it  were  sold  by  the 
ounce,  it  is  so  rare  and  so  precious." 

"But  wouldn't  you  lose  money  then,  my 
dear,  impatient  Doctor?"  said  Mrs.  Alfred. 

"And  save  our  tempers.  Mine  is  getting 
quite  worn  out." 

"Like   our   poor   Sebastian's." 

"Oh,  Sebastian's,"  declared  Louis,  "is  proof 
against  anything,  or  he  would  have  been  in 
the  madhouse  long  ago!" 

There  was  silence  after  that,  until  Mrs. 
Wilmot,  probably  with  a  viewr  to  change  the 
subject,  observed: 

"Isn't  that  friend  of  Margie's,  that  Miss 
Kent,  a  very  pretty  girl?" 


294  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"So  Sebastian  thinks,"  answered  Mrs.  Alfred. 
"Doesn't  he,  Louis?" 

"Well,  he  has  not  told  me  so,"  said  Louis. 

"If  Mrs.  Rollins  had  daughters,"  continued 
Mrs.  Alfred,  looking  down  demurely,  "she  would 
never  have  had  so  pretty  a  companion." 

"Oh,  is  she  a  companion?"  asked  Mrs. 
Wilmot.  "I  thought  she  was  with  Mrs.  Rollins 
as  a  friend." 

"So  she  is,"  remarked  Louis,— "the  daughter 
of  old  family  friends." 

"She  combines  both,"  said  Mrs.  Alfred, 
sweetly. 

"She's  a  remarkably  beautiful  girl,"  put  in 
Alfred;  "and  my  wife  here  knows  that  I  have 
an  eye  for  beauty." 

"It  must  have  been  closed  when  you  chose 
her!"  thought  Louis;  but,  of  course,  he  said 
nothing  aloud.  And,  after  all,  that  was  probably 
prejudice;  for  Mrs.  Alfred,  in  her  youth,  had 
been  really  good-looking. 

Mrs.  Wilmot  was  meanwhile  pondering  what 
she  had  heard,  and  especially  one  remark 
which  she  had  found  disturbing.  It  gave  her 
a  painful  sensation  at  the  heart  to  think  that 
Sebastian,  as  Mrs.  Alfred  had  implied,  was 
evidently  so  much  attracted  by  this  young 
girl  as  to  have  excited  notice.  The  youngest 
son  had  been  so  exclusively  hers  and  Margie's, 
and  had  been  so  absorbed  in  business  affairs, 
that,  although  he  had  always  loudly  pro 
claimed  himself  a  worshipper  of  beauty,  it 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  295 

had  seemed  to  the  mother  that  he  might  not 
think  of  marriage  for  years  to  come.  And, 
then,  a  companion,  however  pretty  and  attrac 
tive,  was  not  at  all  what  the  ambitious  lady 
would  have  chosen  for  her  son.  Even  Alfred 
had  done  better  than  that, — Caroline  having 
had  some  money  of  her  own,  and  having  come 
of  a  rather  distinguished  family. 

It  had  been  Mrs.  Wilmot's  dream  that  Sebas 
tian  should  ally  his  wealth  with  something 
substantial  in  the  way  of  family  connections, 
especially  as  his  father  had  chosen  to  make 
him  the  practical  head  of  the  family.  She 
was  the  more  disturbed  that  she  was  still 
agitated  over  the  affair  of  Margie.  For,  as 
Mrs.  Alfred  suggested,  no  matter  how  promising 
Dr.  Dever  might  be  as  a  physician,  he  was 
assuredly  ' '  nothing  at  all  to  begin  with ' ' ;  and, 
so  far  as  was  known  to  that  genealogically  well- 
informed  person,  he  had  no  connections  that 
could  be  at  all  desirable.  This  was  a  subject 
that  had  once  been  tried  with  Louis,  and 
found  to  be  nearly  as  explosive  as  nitroglycerine. 
On  the  present  occasion,  therefore,  it  was 
carefully  avoided;  and,  indeed,  Mrs.  Wilmot 
could  only  be  thankful  that,  for  some  inexplic 
able  reason,  with  which  she  thought  Sebastian 
was  connected,  Margie's  affair  had  been  per 
mitted  to  lapse  for  the  present,  and  the  phy 
sician  had  consented  to  remain  in  the  obscurity 
to  which  Mrs.  Alfred  had  consigned  him. 

"Our  children  are  a  great  care  to  us,"  said 


-296  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Mrs.  Wilmot,  with  a  sigh,  and  as  a  result  of 
these  reflections  that  had  been  going  on  in 
her  own  mind;  "and  just  as  much  so  when 
they  are  grown  up  as  before." 

"Not  Alfred,  surely,  my  dear  mother!"  said 
Louis;  and  even  in  his  irony,  when  directed 
towrard  his  mother,  the  Doctor  showed  a  kindly 
tolerance  for  her  weaknesses. 

Mrs.  Alfred  bit  her  lip,  and  the  mother 
looked  inquiringly  at  the  speaker.  Being  by 
no  means  slow-witted,  she  partly  caught  his 
meaning;  but  she  answered  in  good  faith: 

"I  have  never  been  anxious  about  Alfred." 

"He  follows  the  straight  line,  never  going 
off  at  a  tangent,  matrimonially  or  otherwise," 
said  Louis.  "Alfred,  you  are  to  be  congratu 
lated." 

Alfred  received  both  his  mother's  remark  and 
these  congratulations  quite  complacently. 

"The  law  has  a  steadying  influence,"  he 
observed.  "It  gives  one  balance  and  weight." 

"It  is  certainly  giving  you  weight,"  Louis 
declared.  "I'd  advise  a  course  of  gym 
nastics." 

"Yes,  I  tell  him,"  interjected  Mrs.  Alfred, 
"that  he  should  get  Sebastian's  recipe  for 
keeping  thin." 

"Sebastian  could  give  recipes  for  a  good 
many  things,"  said  Louis.  "I  should  like  to 
take  several  leaves  out  of  his  book." 

Mrs.  Alfred  dropped  her  eyes  and  looked 
provokingly,  as  if  that  were  a  subject  upon 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  297 

which  she  would  not  touch,  especially  before 
a  mother. 

"And,"  assented  Alfred,  "he  is  really  doing 
better  than  might  have  been  expected  with 
the  business, — though  with  the  help,  of  course, 
that  I  have  been  able  to  give  him." 

That  was  too  much  for  Louis,  who  rose  to 
his  feet,  and  broke  up  the  party  by  kissing  his 
mother  and  wishing  the  others  a  curt  good 
night. 


298  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 


XXI. 

WHEN  Dr.  Louis  Wilmot  settled  himself  for 
his  smoke  next  evening,  Rosanna  suddenly 
appeared  upon  the  threshold,  and  Louis  realized 
that  she  wanted  to  speak  to  him. 

"That  was  a  capital  dinner,"  he  said,  by 
way  of  opening  the  conversation.  "And  I  tell 
you  what,  Rosanna,  I  was  hungry!" 

" Small  blame  to  you! "  she  responded,  "when 
you  never  broke  your  fast  in  the  middle  of  the 
day  at  all." 

"I  hadn't — time,"  said  Louis.  "The  whole 
town — at  least  this  quarter  of  it — seems  to  be 
down  with  real  or  imaginary  ailments." 

"Half  of  them  do  be  imaginary,  I'm  think 
ing,"  declared  Rosanna;  "and  most  of  the 
time  it  would  be  easy  for  people  to  physic 
themselves,  as  in  the  olden  days." 

"Or,  better  still,  throw  physic  to  the  dogs," 
assented  Louis. 

"True  for  you,  Mr.  Louis,"  agreed  Rosanna, 
absently;  after  which  she  began  upon  the 
topic  that  was  uppermost  in  her  thoughts. 
"Do  you  know  that  it's  been  on  my  mind 
this  good  while  back  to  say  something  to  you  ? ' ' 

"I  lend  you  my  ears,"  answered  the  Doctor, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  299 

» 

not  without  a  regretful  glance  at  a  particularly 
interesting  item  in  the  paper. 

She  leaned  her  hands  impressively  on  the 
side  of  the  table  opposite  to  where  Louis  sat, 
preliminary  to  beginning;  and  the  Doctor 
remarked : 

"Sit  down,  Rosanna.  You  have  been  on 
your  feet  all  day." 

Without  protest,  Rosanna  accepted  the  in 
vitation,  which  her  old-fashioned  ideas  of  the 
properties  would  not  have  permitted  her  to 
take  for  granted. 

"What  I  wanted  to  speak  of,"  she  began, 
"was  the  lot  of  quare  talk  that's  been  going 
about  Mr.  Sebastian." 

Louis  glanced  at  her  sharply,  then  lowered 
his  eyes  till  they  rested  upon  the  table  cover, 
while  he  exclaimed: 

"The  worst  of  all  plagues  was  the  plague  of 
tongues ! ' ' 

"You're  right  enough  there,  Doctor  dear," 
assented  Rosanna.  "But  I  want  to  tell  you 
there's  talk  going  on  over  yonder  that  I  don't 
like.  And,  as  well  as  I  can  make  out,  it  comes 
from  the  young  Madam." 

"Humph!"  said  Louis. 

"I'm  afeard  that  the  same  Madam — bad 
scran  to  her! — didn't  keep  it  within  the  four 
walls  of  the  house.  There's  talk  gone  abroad." 

"But  what  can  they  possibly  say  about 
Sebastian?"  asked  Louis.  "And  what  harm 
can  this  idle  chatter  do  him?" 

20 


300  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

» 

"Ah,  then,   Mr.   Louis,   I  wonder  at  you,— 
indeed  now  I  do ! "  cried  Rosanna.   "  Knowledge 
able  and  all  as  you  are,  and  having  lived  so 
long  in  the  world,  to  ask  what  harm  can  be 
done  by  poisonous  tongues!" 

"Well,  so  long  as  they  are  dealing  with  what 
is  manifestly  false?"  said  Louis,  qualifying  his 
first  statement.  His  tone  was  half  interroga 
tive;  and,  though  Rosanna  sighed,  she  an 
swered  sharply  enough: 

"To  be  sure  it's  false,  every  word  of  it." 

"But  what  is  the  nature  of  this  talk?" 
asked  Louis,  who,  always  direct,  disliked  any 
thing  like  circumlocution. 

"Well,  'tis  said  that  he  bamboozled  his  poor 
father — the  Lord  rest  his  soul ! — so  that  he  might 
have  the  more  money  to  spend  on  his  own 
evil  doings;  that  he's  putting  money  aside 
out  of  the  estate,  and  he  won't  give  an  account 
of  it  to  man  or  mortal." 

"Good  Heavens!"  cried  Louis,  springing  to 
his  feet.  'They  never  dared — they  could  not 
bring  such  allegations  against  a  man  of  blame 
less  life!  No  one  would  believe  such  charges." 

"Well,  it  seems  that  some  do  believe  the 
talk  and  some  do  not.  But,"  added  Rosanna, 
brushing  aside  the  tears  that  had  forced  them 
selves  from  her  faithful,  overcharged  heart, 
"the  poor  lamb  gave  them  just  one  loophole." 

"A  loophole!  What  loophole?"  asked  Louis, 
angrily. 

"Just  this  much,"  said  Rosanna:    "he  began 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  301 

soon  after  his  poor  father's  death  to  stay  away 
from  the  church  and  from  his  duty." 

"Pshaw!"  said  Louis,  poking  the  fire  vigor 
ously  as  a  relief  to  his  feelings.  "As  if  in  Sebas 
tian's  case  that  could  be  construed  into  anything 
worse  than  the  carelessness  that  has  over 
taken  many  a  busy  man!  And  the  worst  of  it 
is  that  there's  nothing  to  be  done.  We  can't 
go  round  denying  the  talk.  We  can't  bring 
any  one  to  book, — though,  if  I  had  my  way, 
I'd  make  it  a  States  prison  offence  to  calum 
niate  a  person;  and  I'd  send  some  one  I  know 
up  for  a  long  term." 

Rosanna  laughed  grimly. 

"Well,  as  I  was  saying,"  she  went  on,  "the 
stories  have  gone  from  bad  to  worse;  and  they 
first  reached  the  servants  by  a  quarrel  between 
Mr.  Alfred  and  his  wife.  And  out  of  that  came 
a  name  that's  bandied  back  and  forth  a  good 
deal;  and  that's  the  outlandish  name  of 
Elmira." 

"Elmira!"  repeated  Louis,  with  a  flash  of 
intelligence;  remembering  how  Mrs.  Alfred,  in 
the  communication  she  had  thought  fit  to  make 
to  him,  had  mentioned  that  name. 

"Yes,  Elmira,"  said  Rosanna;  "and  part 
of  the  talk  that's  going  round  is,  'Who's  El 
mira?'  Did  you  ever  hear  tell  of  one  of  that 
name,  Mr.  Louis?" 

"I  heard  the  name  mentioned  once  by  Mrs. 
Alfred,"  replied  Louis,  bluntly;  "but  it's  my 
belief  that  such  a  person  never  existed." 


302  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"She  did  that,"  was  the  old  woman's  startling 
rejoinder. 

"What!"  cried  Louis,  turning  upon  her. 
"You  believe  this  nonsense  that  is  being 
talked?" 

"God  forbid  I'd  believe  a  word  of  it  where 
our  poor  lamb  is  concerned!  But  there  was 
such  a  person  as  Elmira;  though,  between  you 
and  me,  she  was  a  living  woman  before  Mr. 
Sebastian  was  born." 

Louis  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  until  the 
meaning  of  this  assertion  had  dawned  upon 
him;  then  he  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"That  removes  her  from  the  danger  zone," 
he  said. 

Rosanna  sighed  again. 

"I'm  not  so  easy  in  my  mind  about  that," 
she  said.  "The  story,  once  it's  started,  will 
stick  to  Mr.  Sebastian;  and  he's  not  one  to 
go  around  giving  the  lie  to  what's  said  again 
him." 

"He  could  not  very  well  do  that,"  com 
mented  Louis,  "unless  he  engaged  a  lecture 
platform." 

The  Doctor  was  disposed  now  to  believe 
that  the  whole  thing  was  a  mare's-nest  and  a 
fit  subject  for  jest.  Nevertheless,  he  asked 
presently : 

"How  did  you — how  did  any  one  come  to 
have  knowledge  of  this  Elmira?" 

"That's  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you;    though 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  303 

of  course  my  story  has  to  do  only  with  my  own 
knowledge  of  the  business." 

L/ouis  threw  himself  again  into  the  chair  that 
he  had  vacated,  and  prepared  to  listen,  now 
with  an  interest  stimulated  by  his  curiosity 
concerning  the  mysterious  personage. 

"My  story,"  began  Rosanna,  "goes  back  a 
good  many  years.  It  was  when  you  were  a  wee, 
toddling  lad,  and  before  Mr.  Sebastian  was 
born.  I  was  a  slip  of  a  girl,  not  long  in  this 
country.  Your  mother  wanted  me  to  be  a 
kind  of  helper  in  the  nursery;  though  I  soon 
got  to  be  your  nurse  entirely,  by  reason  of  Mr. 
Alfred  getting  scarlet  fever  and  being  taken 
away  by  the  head  nurse  to  the  hospital.  But 
sure  you  don't  remember  a  word  of  what  I'm 
telling  you." 

"Only  from  hearsay,"  answered  Louis. 

"Well,  one  day,  afore  I  had  the  full  charge 
of  you,  I  was  sent  in  to  sweep  out  your  father's 
room, — the  room  where  he  kept  all  his  papers." 

Louis  slightly  started  at  the  mention  of  his 
father. 

"I  was  bid  to  be  very  careful,  for  fear  of 
mislaying  anything;  and  so  I  was  stepping 
about  as  if  I  was  on  eggshells.  Suddenly  I 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  my  sweeping  to  pick 
up  the  weeniest  bit  of  paper,  when  what  did 
I  find  foreninst  me,  lying  on  the  floor,  close  to 
the  table,  but  two  photographs!  It  looked  as 
if  they  might  have  fallen  out  of  a  book  or 
envelope.  1  picked  them  up  innocent  like,  and 


304  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

there  was  your  papa  taken  by  the  side  of  a  young 
woman, — a  pretty  creature  she  was,  too.  And 
there  was  the  same  girl — she  couldn't  be  more 
than  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  of  age— taken 
all  alone  by  herself.  Underneath  that  second 
picture  I  had  spelled  out  what  was  there  in  a 
quare  kind  of  writing,  as  if  the  letters  were  all 
jumbled  together:  'To  David,  with  ever  so 
much  love.'  And  then  sure  enough,  she  put 
her  name." 

During  this  recital  Louis  sat  staring  at  the 
floor,  with  a  frown  of  deep  thought  between 
his  eyes. 

"I  needn't  ask  what  the  name  was,"  he  said 
at  last. 

"No,  you  needn't.  It  was,  of  course,  Elmira, 
or  I  wouldn't  be  telling  you  this  long  story." 

Louis,  who  had  allowed  his  cigar  to  smoulder 
to  a  faint  spark,  now  blew  it  into  life,  and  began 
to  smoke  vigorously. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "there  was  no  date 
to  this  thing?" 

"Sorra  one,"  declared  Rosanna. 

"  I  suppose,"  went  on  Louis,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  "it  was  some  boy-and-girl  love  affair 
of  my  late  father.  But  how  in  the  name  of 
wonder  this  story  got  foisted  onto  Sebastian, 
so  that  he  is  made  the  hero  of  the  drama,  is 
what  I  can't  make  out." 

"It's  the  selfsame  thing  that's  puzzling  me," 
Rosanna  said;  "and  it's  enough  to  rack  the 
brains  of  Brian  Boru  himself, — him  that  they 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  305 

say  was  so  knowledgeable.  But  to  go  on  with 
my  story.  I  never  in  the  world  would  have  given 
a  thought  to  the  photographs  again  only  that 
just  as  I  was  holding  them  in  my  hands  the 
door  opened — you  mind  the  door  that  leads 
from  your  father's  bedroom  into  the  place  I'm 
speaking  of — and  there  stood  your  papa,  white 
as  a  sheet  and  all  of  a  tremble.  When  he  seen 
the  photographs  in  my  hand,  he  flew  at  me  like 
a  bear.  I  thought  he  was  going  to  murder  me. 
He  snatched  the  bits  of  things  from  my  hand 
and  he'd  like  to  have  torn  them  in  two. 

"How  dare  you,'  says  he,  'go  rummaging 
among  my  things?  And  how  did  you  come  to 
be  in  this  room  at  all?' 

"Well,  Mr.  Louis,  if  you'll  believe  me,  every 
drop  of  blood  in  my  body  rushed  to  my  face, 
and  I  began  to  shake  like  one  that  had  the 
palsy. 

"I  was  sent  here,  sir,'  says  I,  'to  sweep  and 
dust  and  put  things  in  order.' 

"'Who  dared  to  send  you?'  says  he. 

"I  named  the  upper  housemaid. 

' '  She  shall  leave  the  house  this  very  day ! ' 
he  cried,  furious  like.  'And  you'll  go,  too.  I'll 
send  you  both  off,  bag  and  baggage.' 

"Well,  with  that,  Mr.  Louis,  I  got  up  my 
courage  and  I  says  to  him: 

'"Mr.  Wilmot,  it's  hard  on  a  poor  girl  that 
is  trying  to  do  her  duty,  and  for  the  other  girl, 
too,  to  be  ordered  out  of  the  house,  as  if  we 
were  criminals.' 


306  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

'You're  worse  than  a  criminal,'  says  he. 

"'If  you'll  plase  to  tell  me  how,  sir,'  says  I. 
'Just  because  I  found  on  the  floor  of  the  room 
some  photographs,  and— 

"'Hush!'  says  he.  'Don't  you  dare  to  men 
tion  them!' 

"'And  that  I  thought  it  no  harm  to  look 
at  them,'  says  I.  '  For  how  was  I  to  know  more 
than  the  child  unborn  that  they  were  not  to 
be  looked  at?' 

"He  calmed  down  a  good  deal  at  that. 

"'My  good  girl,'  says  he,  forcing  a  smile  on 
him,  'I  think  your  name  is  Rosanna.' 

"'Yes,  sir,  it  is,'  says  I,  dropping  a  curtsy. 

"'Well,  I  begin  to  think  you  were  not  so 
much  to  blame.  You  were  simply  doing  your 
duty,  and — and  betrayed  by  a  very  natural 
curiosity  into  looking  at  these  things.  I  should 
have  been  more  careful  of  these  photographs, 
which  dropped  out  of  my  letter  case,  and  you 
mustn't  mind  what  I  have  said,  nor  think  of 
leaving  the  house.  Nor  need  you  say  anything 
to  the  other  girl." 

Louis'  face  was  still  inscrutable,  but  his 
mind  was  considerably  disturbed;  while  Ro 
sanna,  after  a  glance  at  him,  pursued  her 
narrative. 

"I  promised  him  that  gladly  enough;  and 
then  he  bound  me  over  to  keep  the  matter 
of  the  two  photographs  a  secret.  He  put  his 
hand  into  his  pocket  and  drew  out  a  bill.  How 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  307 

much  it  was  I  don't  know,  for  I  never  looked 
at  it. 

"'No,  sir!'  says  I.  'Many  thanks  to  you! 
I'm  a  poor  girl,  but  I  won't  take  any  money 
for  keeping  silent  about  matters  that  don't 
concern  me,  and  that  it's  your  wish  shouldn't 
be  spoken  of.' 

'"You're  right,'  says  he;  and  then  he 
laughed  again,  that  same  death's-head  kind  of 
a  laugh.  '  For  you'll  know  yourself  some  of 
these  days,  Rosanna,  when  you  have  a  husband 
of  your  own,  that  a  wife  doesn't  like  to  hear 
any  such  little  secrets.' 

11  The  saying  often  came  back  to  my  mind 
afterward,  though  my  husband  lived  only  two 
years, — God  have  mercy  on  them  all!  After 
his  death  I  went  back  again  to  your  mamma. 
For,  you  see,  that  was  the  only  place  where  I 
had  ever  lived  out  in  this  country." 

Louis  had  been  looking  very  grave  during 
the  latter  part  of  Rosanna's  strange  narrative. 
For  he  felt  perfectly  convinced  that  men,  and 
especially  heavy,  phlegmatic  men  like  his  father, 
even  allowing  for  the  difference  between  youth 
and  age,  do  not  fly  into  paroxysms  of  rage  and 
fear,  and  do  not  try  to  buy  their  servants' 
silence,  because  of  a  simple  boy-and-girl  affair, 
which  a  wife  would  regard  as  a  jest.  Besides, 
many  things  had  puzzled  him  in  Sebastian's 
proceedings,  though  he  had  resolutely  striven 
to  avoid  showing  any  curiosity.  And  he  had 
been  impressed  more  than  he  would  have  cared 


3o8  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

to  own  by  the  reticence  in  which  his  younger 
brother  took  refuge  whenever  the  affairs  of  his 
late  father  were  mentioned.  Whether  or  not 
there  could  be  any  connection  between  all  that 
and  this  singular  reminiscence  of  Rosanna's 
was  a  question  that  now  forced  itself  upon  his 
mind. 

"Well,  Mr.  Louis,"  said  the  old  woman, 
"what  would  you  make  of  that?" 

Louis  answered  in  all  sincerity: 

"I  don't  know." 

"At  the  time  I  didn't  think  much  of  it," 
continued  Rosanna;  "for  what  would  a  slip 
of  a  girl  know  about  such  things?  But  it's 
been  in  my  thoughts  this  while  back, — ever 
since  I  heard  the  name  of  Elmira.  I'm  telling 
you  now,  Mr.  Louis,  what  never  crossed  my 
lips  to  man  or  mortal,  and  never  would  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  what's  come  and  gone  about 
the  house.  And,  I  ask  you,  how  did  that  name 
come  in  any  one's  mouth?  That's  what  I'm 
racking  my  brains  to  find  out.  And  it's  my 
belief  that  the  young  Madam  got  wind  of  that 
matter  somehow." 

"It  certainly  looks  like  it,"  said  Louis, 
thoughtfully.  "But,  even  allowing  that  she 
had  any  means  of  getting  a  sight  of  those 
photographs,  why  should  she  fix  the  odium 
on  Sebastian  or  try  to  represent  this  Elmira 
as  a  factor  in  his  life?" 

"That's  just  what  there's  no  means  of 
knowing,"  answered  Rosanna;  "for,  bad  as 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  309 

she  is — of  course  I  mane  with  regard  to  her 
tongue, — I'd  be  loath  to  suspect  her  of  pur 
posely  trying  to  blacken  Mr.  Sebastian  with 
pitch  that  she  got  out  of  the  past." 
•  Louis  remained  in  a  deep  reverie  for  some 
moments,  slowly  poking  at  the  fire,  as  if  that 
exercise  were  an  aid  to  his  thoughts;  while 
the  old  woman  let  her  anxious  eyes  wander 
from  his  face  to  the  sparks  that  were  leaping 
and  flying,  as  if  eager  to  escape  up  the  chimney 
into  that  alien  element  of  the  air  which  would 
prove  their  destruction. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Louis  at  last,  "that 
she  must  have  got  some  clue,  which  she  has 
wrongly  applied  and  which  has  set  her  curiosity 
on  a  false  scent.  What  with  her  malicious 
tongue,  joined  to  Alfred's  inquisitiveness,  she 
has  made  herself  an  intolerable  nusiance.  I 
wonder  my  mother  does  not  see  it  and  try  to 
put  a  stopper  on  her  once  for  all." 

He  spoke  irritably;  for,  indeed,  he  was  sorely 
vexed  as  well  as  perturbed  at  the  direction 
affairs  seemed  to  be  taking. 

"It  would  take  a  good  deal  to  stop  her  from 
talking — for  very  long,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Rosanna;  "and,  with  her  smiling  face,  and  the 
trick  she  has  of  making  much  of  people,  sure 
it's  no  surprise  that  an  innocent  lady  like 
your  mamma  would  be  deceived  by  her.  And 
there's  Mr.  Alfred!  He  thinks  the  world  of 
her.  And — God  forgive  me! — why  shouldn't 
he  and  she  his  wedded  wife ! ' ' 


3io  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"All  I  know  is,"  said  Louis,  angrily,  "that 
if  Eve  were  like  her,  it's  not  much  wonder 
that  she  was  driven  out  of  Paradise  and  got 
Adam  put  out,  too." 

Rosanna,  in  spite  of  all  her  perturbation, 
could  not  help  laughing. 

"Wisha,  it's  the  droll  way  you  have  with 
you,  Mr.  Louis!"  she  exclaimed. 

"I  never  felt  less  like  being  droll  in  my  life," 
he  responded.  "It's  hard  to  know  what  may 
grow  out  of  all  this,  and  what  is  best  to  do. 
For  a  single  imprudent  word — and  I'm  sure 
that  woman  is  speaking  many  of  them — might 
be  like  a  match  to  a  mine." 

"Now,  don't  take  it  to  heart  like  that," 
said  Rosanna,  rising  and  laying  her  motherly 
hand  upon  the  young  man's  shoulder;  "or 
•you'll  make  me  sorry  that  I  spoke  a  word. 
But  just  heed  my  advice.  Leave  things  in  the 
hands  of  God.  When  you  kneel  down  every 
night  and  morning,  or  when  you're  before 
God's  holy  altar,  commend  the  matter  to  Him 
and  to  His  Holy  Mother,  and  ask  for  light  to 
do  what's  best." 

The  old  woman,  speaking  thus,  left  Louis 
to  his  reflections,  which  were  unusually  gloomy 
and  anxious.  Suddenly  to  him  had  been 
transferred  a  portion  of  the  load  that  had  been 
weighing  on  Sebastian's  patient  shoulders;  and, 
though  he  had  no  certainty,  and  only  the 
merest  conjecture  to  work  upon,  he  found  those 
considerations  sufficiently  disquieting.  Could 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  311 

there,  he  asked  himself,  be  anything  in  all  that 
to  account  for  Sebastian's  attitude  with  respect 
to  Margie's  marriage?  It  seemed  as  if,  in  the 
long  hour  or  more  that  he  sat  thus  smoking 
and  thinking,  he  had  got  some  insight  into  the 
mind  of  his  brother,  and  was  participating  in 
those  mental  struggles  which  had  left  their 
lines  on  Sebastian's  face.  Weighing  the  pros 
and  cons,  he  could  not  decide  whether  it  was 
better  to  let  matters  remain  as  they  were  for 
some  time  longer,  or  to  speak  some  word  of 
warning  to  his  younger  brother.  His  final 
decision  was  that  he  should  wait,  keeping 
himself  watchfully  on  the  alert. 

He  heard,  as  he  reached  that  conclusion,  the 
bell  from  a  neighboring  clock  tower  strike,  with 
solemn,  deep-toned  notes,  the  hour  of  mid 
night, — an  hour  which  seldom  found  the  Doctor 
out  of  bed  unless  his  professional  duties  de 
manded  the  sacrifice. 

"This  will  never  do!"  he  said  to  himself. 
"I  won't  be  good  for  anything  to-morrow. 
And  just  when  I  have  that  important  case  on 
hand  that  calls  for  all  my  nerve!" 

He  looked,  as  it  was  his  habit  to  do,  at  the 
fastenings  of  the  doors,  covered  the  smoulder 
ing  embers  of  the  fire  with  a  guard  of  ashes, 
turned  off  the  electric  light,  and,  still  thoughtful 
and  depressed,  went  upstairs. 


3i2  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 


XXII. 

SPACIOUS  and  old-fashioned  was  the  Wilmot 
drawing-room  in  Gramercy  Park.  It  was  a 
long  and  wide  apartment,  divided  in  two  by 
pillars.  Its  appointments  were  massive.  Ma 
hogany  sofas  displayed  their  carved  and  twisted 
legs  to  rival  those  of  the  tables  that,  marble- 
topped  or  otherwise,  stood  about,  encumbering 
the  space.  Mantles  of  finest  white  Carrara 
marble  were  permitted  to  give  evidence  of  the 
excellence  of  their  workmanship,  without  ob 
scuring  drapery  or  mantleshelf.  They  were 
overtopped  by  gold-framed  mirrors,  that  had 
once  been  the  pride  and  delight  of  every  house 
holder,  and  that  reflected  each  movement  of 
those  within  the  room.  The  lace  curtains  on 
the  windows, — all  spoke  of  an  era  that  had 
vanished.  It  was  early  Victorian,  to  which  had 
been  superadded  the  ugliness  of  the  middle 
period;  and  here  and  there,  faintly  struggling 
like  a  gleam  of  light  amongst  the  thick-matted 
foliage  of  a  forest,  was  a  modern  touch.  That 
had  owed  its  origin  to  a  time  previous  to  that 
when  Mrs.  Wilmot  had  ceased  struggling  against 
her  husband's  will,  which  in  this,  as  in  a  few 
other  matters,  had  remained  inflexible.  He 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  313 

had  been  constitutionally  averse  to  change. 
He  took  pride  in  those  massive  articles,  which 
early  in  his  married  life,  and  after  moving  into 
this  dwelling,  he  had  accumulated.  Each  had 
come  to  have  for  him  a  sort  of  individuality, 
and,  in  its  solid,  material  way,  stood  as  a 
guarantee  of  his  prosperity. 

The  drawing-room,  on  a  certain  evening,  had 
a  plentiful  sprinkling  of  guests,  who  had  been 
bidden  to  hear  Signer  Cavalcanti,  a  new  tenor, 
about  whom  Manhattan  was  prepared  to  rave; 
and  also  a  Miss  Fremont,  who,  though  not  a 
poetess  herself,  was  a  near  relative  of  a  great 
poet,  and  felt  that  she  had  a  mission  to  interpret 
his  poems  to  the  multitude.  Mrs.  Rollins  had 
been  invited,  and  with  her  Dorothy  Kent,  from 
whom  Sebastian  was  holding  aloof,  with  an 
effort  which  turned  his  dark  face  almost  gray 
in  coloring,  and  seemed  to  emphasize  the  lines 
that  had  gathered  about  his  mouth. 

The  gown  that  Miss  Kent  wore  was,  as  he 
had  heard  some  one  say,  of  moonlight  blue, 
shimmering  in  soft,  radiant  folds  about  her, 
catching  every  turn  of  the  light.  She  was 
pleased,  eager,  interested;  and  her  eyes  met 
Sebastian's  occasionally  as  he  moved  about 
amongst  his  guests,  playing  host  mechanically, 
or  stood  against  one  of  the  pillars  and  listened 
to  the  poetess  reciting,  with  an  interest  that 
flagged,  or  to  the  Signor  as  he  sang.  But  in 
regard  to  the  Italian  the  case  was  different. 
He  seemed  to  be  voicing  every  sentiment,  every 


3  H  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

emotion,  that  was  hidden  deep  under  impassive, 
well-bred  exteriors,  behind  the  smiling  mask 
of  gay  and  laughing  faces, — in  the  old,  with 
whom  all  sentiment  was  memory;  in  the  young, 
with  whom  all  sentiment  was  hope.  To  Sebas 
tian,  that  burst  of  harmony  seemed  to  give 
utterance  to  all  that  was  pent  up  in  his  heart. 
He  dared  not  then  look  at  Dorothy,  since  that 
glance  might  have  told  her  everything. 

There  was  a  hush  when  the  man  had  done. 
Humanity,  raised  above  itself,  finds  the  descent 
to  the  commonplace  abrupt;  and  perhaps  in 
souls  there  is  always  the  unconscious  listening 
to  the  eternal  harmonies  that  are  their  birth 
right. 

Forth  from  those  spacious  apartments  led 
the  dining-room,  which  had  been  the  chief 
reason  in  the  late  Mr.  Wilmot's  mind  for  build 
ing  an  extension.  It  was  a  solid,  square  room 
high-ceilinged,  and  furnished  with  the  same 
heavy  furniture,  and,  as  if  by  design,  partook 
of  its  generally  sombre  character;  only  that 
it  was  saved  from  gloom  by  the  innumerable 
electric  lights,  that  transformed  it  into  an 
almost  magical  brightness.  They  shone  out 
from  every  corner  of  the  ceiling,  and  they 
intersected  each  of  the  four  walls.  Now  in  this 
apartment  were  served  ices  and  refreshments 
of  a  more  solid  description;  and  Sebastian 
realized  with  a  kind  of  horror  that  Dorothy 
Kent  would  go  thither  with  the  rest.  Indeed, 
he  knew  that  her  entrance  into  that  room  was 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  315 

inevitable, — if  not  that  evening,  at  some  other 
time.  He  felt  that  he  would  fain,  if  there  was 
any  possible  chance  of  so  doing,  put  off  that 
evil  moment.  Nevertheless,  since  she  would 
have  to  go  into  that  room,  and  be  confronted 
with  that  which  he  feared,  he  was  determined 
to  bring  her  there  himself,  and  seek,  if  possible, 
to  distract  her  attention. 

Dorothy  meantime  had  been  feeling  some 
what  hurt  and  resentful  at  the  attitude  which 
Sebastian  had  chosen  to  assume,  even  though 
it  might  be  in  deference  to  the  wishes  of  Mrs. 
Rollins.  She,  however,  accepted  his  invitation 
to  take  supper;  and,  quite  unconscious  of  the 
anxiety  that  was  torturing  her  companion, 
walked  beside  him  through  the  pillars  into  the 
inner  room.  She  was  jesting  and  laughing  as 
they  went ;  for  she  did  not  want  him  to  suspect 
that  his  previous  inattention  to  her  had  been 
so  much  as  remarked.  She  let  her  eyes  roam, 
with  an  almost  childlike  curiosity  in  each  new 
scene,  around  the  vast  apartment  into  which 
she  was  now  ushered. 

Sebastian,  by  a  last  futile  effort,  had  striven 
to  place  her  where  the  object  of  his  dread  might 
not  too  conspicuously  confront  her;  and  he 
talked  with  an  almost  feverish  rapidity  while 
he  helped  her  to  a  salad  from  the  table.  In  his 
heart  was  the  hope  that  she  might  see  without 
recognizing  that  picture  upon  the  wall.  But 
the  eyes  that  could  be  so  keen  as  well  as  sweet 
suddenly  fixed  themselves  upon  the  portrait, 


21 


316  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

exceedingly  large  and  exceedingly  lifelike,  which 
dominated  the  whole  room, — the  portrait  of 
the  late  David  Wilmot.  The  words  that  Dorothy 
had  been  saying  died  upon  her  lips,  the  fork 
that  she  had  been  daintily  raising  from  the 
plate  remained  suspended,  while  through  her 
whole  being  ran  a  thrill  of  surprise,  intense, 
overpowering.  Sebastian,  who  stood  by  in  an 
agony  of  suspense,  saw  at  once  that  his  hope 
had  been  vain,  and  that  Dorothy's  direct  glance 
had  identified  the  faded  photograph  of  half 
a  century  before  with  the  florid,  complacent 
countenance  that  loomed  so  large  from  the 
canvas,  though  the  features  had  grown  heavy 
and  the  hair  grizzled. 

Before  her  surprise  had  turned  to  conster 
nation,  or  she  had  time  to  collect  her  thoughts, 
she  exclaimed  involuntarily: 

"Why,  that  is  wonderfully  like — why,  surely 
it  is  the  original  of— 

"That,"  said  Sebastian,  placing  himself 
directly  in  front  of  her  (for  he  knew  that  Mrs. 
Alfred  was  near  at  hand,  and  observing  Doro 
thy's  every  movement), — "that  is  the  portrait 
of  my  father." 

Dorothy's  exclamation  of  wonder,  of  horror, 
was  instantly  suppressed,  and  her  wits  were 
once  more  keenly  on  the  alert,  especially  as  she 
caught  the  inquiring  glance  of  Mrs.  Alfred. 
She  realized  by  a  quick  flash  of  intuition  all 
the  features  of  the  situation,  and  particularly 
where  they  concerned  Sebastian.  Inwardly, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  317 

she  was  trembling  with  emotion,  excitement, 
as  when  one  is  suddenly  brought  into  the 
presence  of  a  great  calamity.  Outwardly,  she 
was  calm.  It  was  a  dramatic  moment,  which 
both  those  chief  actors  therein  felt  to  the 
innermost  depths  of  their  being;  though  some 
one  in  the  drawing-room  was  playing  a  gay 
waltz,  which  came  floating  in  through  the  rows 
of  pillars;  and  though  Dorothy,  looking  hastily 
toward  Mrs.  Wilmot,  perceived  that  she  was 
placidly  eating  an  ice  at  the  other  side  of  the 
table,  and  chatting  with  her  neighbor.  All 
around  were  well-dressed,  conventionally  joyous 
people,  who  had  suddenly  become  spectral 
to  Dorothy,  and  who  had  so  little  idea  of  any 
thing  unusual  in  their  surroundings. 

Perhaps  half  the  pathos  of  life,  even  its 
tragedy,  consists  in  that  perpetual  intermingling 
of  the  trivial  and  the  tragic, — the  little  weeds 
that  grow  upon  a  grave  or  the  beams  of  sun 
that  shine  there,  regardless  of  the  agony  of 
hearts  half  broken  beside  it;  the  wavelets  that 
play  where  human  lives  have  disappeared 
beneath  treacherous  waters;  the  children  that 
romp  beside  a  bier,  or  familiar  household 
things, — some  article  of  dress,  some  book  or 
piece  of  paper,  remaining  to  wring  the  sur 
vivor's  heart  when  the  hand  that  touched  it 
has  mouldered  into  dust. 

Meanwhile  there  was  Mrs.  Alfred  hovering 
about,  and,  with  an  eye  ever  on  the  watch  for 
what  was  new,  finding  something  unusual  in 


3i8  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

the  attitude  of  those  two — Dorothy  and  Sebas 
tian.  For  already  she  had  coupled  them  to 
gether  in  her  own  mind,  and  felt  that  there  was 
at  least  what  she  called  a  rapprochement  between 
them, — a  drawing  together  which  was  certainly 
to  be  deplored.  She  paused  and  laid  a  caressing 
hand  upon  Dorothy's  shoulder. 

"You  are  looking  very  grave,"  she  said, 
"though  just  as  sweet  and  pretty  as  ever." 

"How  nice  of  you!"  replied  Dorothy,  with 
a  forced  laugh.  "And  how  very  encouraging!" 

"I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Alfred,  "that  that 
little  pensive  air  is  because  you  are  still  thinking 
of  that  likeness, — the  original  of  something 
unexplained." 

She  laughed  maliciously  at  Dorothy's  slight 
start. 

"Oh,  it  does  not  do,"  she  said,  "to  have 
too  expressive  a  countenance,  and  a  clear  voice 
that  carries  far,  especially  if  there  are  any  of 
those  pretty  little  secrets  one  wants  to  conceal ! ' ' 

But  Dorothy  had  already  drawn  down  over 
her  features  a  mask  of  smiling  imperturbability, 
by  which  she  had  the  power  of  veiling  all 
play  of  the  features.  And  this,  despite  the 
fact  that  she  was  still  quivering  from  the 
shock  of  that  sudden  comprehension,  of  the 
acute  sympathy,  with  which  she  had  met  the 
challenging  gaze  of  Sebastian,  and  heard  his 
words,  smiting  like  anvil  strokes: 

"That  is  the  portrait  of  my  father." 

Dorothy  contrived   to   laugh,   naturally  this 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  319 

time,  while  she  went  on  composedly  eating 
her  salad. 

"How  funny,"  she  said,  "to  be  thinking  of 
mysteries  and  concealments  here  in  a  modern 
drawing-room,  in  the  heart  of  Manhattan!  But 
if  you  have  any  curiosity  as  to  our  conversa 
tion,  it  was  about  the  portrait.  It  is  very  like 
a  photograph  of  Mr.  Sebastian  that  Margie 
showed  me  once." 

"O  my  dear  Miss  Kent,"  cried  Mrs.  Alfred, 
"where  are  your  eyes?  Sebastian  is  the  very 
image  of  his  mother." 

As  Dorothy  looked  quickly  toward  the  hand 
some,  well-preserved  woman  who  was  sitting 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  she  acknowledged 
to  her  herself  that,  though  the  whole  character 
of  their  faces  was  different,  it  was  his  mother 
whom  he  resembled,  and  this  despite  a  certain 
far-away  resemblance  to  the  portrait  on  the 
wall.  This  was  so  slight  that  it  might  not  have 
struck  an  observer,  unless  the  relationship 
between  the  younger  and  the  older  man  had 
been  explained.  It  was  this  vague  resemblance 
which  Sebastian  had  at  first  feared  that  Dorothy 
might  detect  in  the  photograph,  and  it  was  upon 
this  that  the  girl  based  her  next  assertion. 

"Likenesses  are  such  subtle  things!"  she 
remarked.  "And  I  must  admit  there  is  a 
resemblance  between  that  portrait  and  Mr. 
Sebastian." 

Mrs.  Alfred  continued  to  regard  her  with  a 
bright,  penetrating  glance. 


320  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"You  found  it,"  she  said,  "at  first  quite  a 
startling  resemblance. ' ' 

Startled  Dorothy  certainly  had  been,  though 
not  by  that  resemblance;  but  now  she  only 
gazed  with  a  blank  stare  into  the  eyes  that 
were  seeking  to  probe  hers  for  some  mystery. 

"Does  it  matter  very  much?"  she  inquired; 
and  the  words,  tranquilly  spoken,  acted  as  a 
quietus  upon  the  restless  inquisitiveness  of  the 
other;  for  nothing  is  more  disconcerting  than 
to  be  informed  that  one  is  making  unnecessary 
fuss  over  the  casual  and  the  ordinary. 

"No,  it  doesn't  matter  in  the  least,"  an 
swered  Mrs.  Alfred,  recovering  her  equanimity 
and  breaking  up  the  tete-a-tete,  which  had  been 
in  progress,  by  stationing  herself  beside  the 
girl. 

Meanwhile  Dorothy  was  passionately  ranging 
herself  upon  Sebastian's  side  against  this 
woman,  and  against  the  whole  world  if  neces 
sary.  Tumultuously  rising  within  her  was  a 
new  feeling  superadded  to  the  interest  which 
Sebastian  had  already  inspired.  She  recognized 
the  strength,  the  force,  with  which  he  had 
concealed  everything,  and  the  heroic  quality 
with  which  this  action  had  invested  that  tall 
and  grave  young  man,  before  whom,  for  the 
first  time,  she  now  felt  impelled  to  bow  down. 
In  that  moment,  which  to  his  troubled  imagina 
tion  meant  defeat,  he  had  conquered  and  won 
that  which  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to 
press  forward  and  claim.  It  was  neither  his 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  321 

money,  his  commanding  position  as  head  of 
a  great  firm,  nor  even  his  cleverness  and  his 
quick  sympathies  that  appealed  to  her  just 
then:  it  was  that  moral  force  which  had  made 
him  capable  of  acting  as  he  had  done.  For  she 
divined  more  than  any  explanation  could  have 
made  known  to  her, — much  of  what  Sebastian 
had  to  endure  since  this  secret  had  been  thrust 
into  his  keeping. 

She  trembled  lest  he  should  return  from  the 
table  where  he  was  busily  engaged  in  serving 
others,  and  that,  under  the  gaze  of  Mrs.  Alfred, 
she  should  have  to  meet  his  eyes.  So  much 
had  seemed  to  happen  in  those  few  seconds! 
He  had  become,  as  it  were,  so  much  nearer  to 
her;  and  she  felt  an  eager  desire  to  assure  him 
of  her  understanding,  her  loyalty,  and  her 
discretion.  What  it  must  have  cost  him,  she 
reflected,  to  utter  those  few  words  and  to 
warn  back  into  silence  her  imprudence !  Raising 
her  eyes,  she  said  to  Mrs.  Alfred,  with  a  deter 
mined  carrying  of  the  war  into  Africa: 

"You  like,  don't  you,  to  startle  people  by 
making  personal  remarks?" 

Mrs.  Alfred,  in  return,  gave  her  arm  a 
pinch, — playful,  of  course,  but  which  showed 
what  those  fingers  might  be  capable  of  in 
actual  warfare. 

"You  little  witch!"  she  said,  in  her  sweetest 
tones.  "No  wonder  somebody  is  bewitched !" 

This  remark,  which  was  unexpected,  and 
which  would  have  left  Dorothy  very  calm  on 


322  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

any  previous  occasion,  now  sent  the  blood 
tingling  to  her  face,  as  well  as  a  thriu  of  new 
found  happiness  through  her  whole  being. 
Even  that  commonplace  and  partly  malicious 
statement  of  what  she  now  fervently  hoped 
might  be  the  case,  rejoiced  her.  To  Mrs.  Alfred, 
however,  she  merely  replied,  with  something 
that  was  almost  contemptuous  in  her  tone: 

''You  are  personal." 

Mrs.  Alfred  laughed  her  peculiar,  noiseless 
laugh,  that  did  not  in  the  least  suggest  merri 
ment.  She  was  wondering,  indeed,  at  that 
very  moment  how  she  could  succeed  in  turning 
Sebastian  against  the  girl;  or, 'failing  that,  to 
reverse  the  process.  For  more  than  one  reason 
that  seemed  good  to  herself,  she  did  not  want 
Dorothy  to  come  into  the  family.  She  felt 
quite  assured  that  the  girl's  beauty,  with  her 
charm  and  accomplishments,  would  give  her 
a  foremost  place  in  the  circle,  and  would  tend 
very  much  to  strengthen  Sebastian's  position 
as  the  most  important  member  of  the  Wilmot 
connection.  By  a  sentiment  of  family  pride 
which  was  apparently  contradictory  she  wished 
the  young  man,  as  the  head  of  the  business, 
to  marry  well,  and  to  look  much  higher  than 
a  "companion"  for  his  wife.  But  she  would 
have  liked  to  consider  such  a  wife  merely  as  a 
valuable  asset  for  the  Wilmots,  on  account  of 
money  or  influential  relations  or  a  foremost 
rank  in  society,  and  not  at  all  for  merely 
accidental  and  inherent  qualities,  which  would 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  323 

have  the  effect  only  of  investing  a  future  Mrs. 
Sebastian  with  personal  importance,  and  which 
would  be  calculated  to  overshadow  all  others. 
Moreover,  from  pure  malice  of  heart  against 
Sebastian,  which  she  now  extended  to  the  girl 
whom  he  seemed  to  favor,  she  felt  a  consuming 
desire  to  take  the  field  against  their  budding 
romance  and  to  kill  it. 

During  the  last  few  moments  of  that  evening, 
she  had  believed  herself  to  have  come  upon  the 
scent  of  some  mystery,  or  at  least  some  secret, 
which  Sebastian,  who  had  lately  seemed  to  be 
surrounding  himself  with  mysteries,  held  in 
common  with  this  girl,  this  outsider.  What 
it  could  be  it  taxed  all  her  ingenuity  to  surmise  ; 
and  she  said  angrily  within  herself  that  this 
Sebastian — contrary  to  all  the  traditions  of  the 
Wilmots,  who  were  plain,  straightforward  men- 
had  been  acting  lately  like  the  hero  of  a  cheap 
melodrama,  and  had  now  permitted  this  strange 
girl  to  pierce  the  veil  of  that  secrecy  which  he 
had  set  up  between  himself  and  the  members 
of  his  family.  It  vexed  her  sorely  to  discover, 
after  a  few  moments  more  of  futile  skirmishing, 
that  she  could  learn  nothing  from  Dorothy 
except  what  that  quick  blush  had  betrayed; 
and  possibly  even  that  might  have  been  merely 
the  effect  of  surprise. 

Having  come  to  this  conclusion,  Mrs.  Alfred 
deliberately  replaced  her  sherbet  glass  upon 
the  table  and  passed  on  her  way,  apparently 
as  smiling  and  in  as  imperturbable  good  humor 


324  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

as  ever.  She  gave  Dorothy's  arm  another  little 
parting  pinch  and  whispered: 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  poor  Sebastian,  since 
he  has  lately  been  getting  himself  into  all 
manner  of  scrapes." 

Sebastian,  seeing  that  she  had  departed,  pres 
ently  returned,  and  stood  silent  and  in  deep 
depression  beside  Dorothy.  All  the  faculties  of 
his  mind  were  concentrated  on  that  which 
had  occurred.  He  wondered  what  were  Doro 
thy's  thoughts,  and  he  was  grateful  that  she 
had  so  promptly  and  with  singular  coolness 
parried  Mrs.  Alfred's  attack.  He  felt  the  air 
of  the  room  oppressive,  as  if  an  electric  storm 
were  impending;  and  the  silence,  though  only 
of  the  briefest  duration,  appeared  to  him  in 
tolerable.  It  was  with  a  sense  of  desperation 
that  he  finally  felt  moved  to  say: 

'That  is  a  very  good  portrait  of  my  father." 

"Is  it?"  asked  Dorothy,  turning  and  fixing 
upon  it  eyes  that  were  darkened  by  stress  of 
feeling,  while  her  voice  was  tremulous  with 
intense  and  conflicting  emotions.  "I  was  quite 
wrong,  though;  he  is  not  at  all  like  you." 

"No,"  said  Sebastian,  "I  don't  really  think 
I  resemble  him."  (He  was  recalling  how  only 
the  other  day  he  had  clung  to  that  hope,  which 
had  now  proved  futile.)  "I  am  usually  said  to 
look  like  my  mother." 

"Are  you  like  her  in  other  ways?"  Dorothy 
said,  feeling  the  next  moment  that  the  question 
was  an  idle  one. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  325 

Sebastian,  however,  replied  gravely: 

"It  is  very  hard  to  tell.  I  suppose  I  am 
like  her  in  some  other  ways." 

Dorothy  continued  to  gaze  at  the  portrait, 
unconsciously  comparing  it  with  the  photo 
graph  that  had  played  so  large  a  part  in  the 
drama  of  poor  Elmira 's  existence,  and  upon 
which  she  had  set  so  many  hopes.  She  noted 
the  heavy  droops  of  the  eyelids,  the  purple- 
veined  cheek  that  had  become  pursy,  the  thick 
neck  set  complacently  above  the  immaculate 
shirt  front  and  the  broadcloth,  outward  symbols 
of  that  prosperity  in  the  sunshine  of  which  this 
man  had  basked;  while,  as  a  companion 
picture,  there  rose  before  her  a  woman  dying 
in  poverty  and  obscurity,  and  Elmira  tormented 
by  sordid  anxieties,  and  dragging  out  her  life 
in  loneliness  and  dreariness, — Elmira,  who  was 
that  man's  daughter! 

As  she  thus  gazed  and  thus  thought  Sebas 
tian  burst  forth  with  the  feeling  that  was 
dominant  in  his  mind. 

"Since  my  poor  father's  death,"  he  said, 
' '  I  have  had  such  a  pity  for  him ;  for  even  his 
wealth  was  a  heavy  burden  to  him." 

"You  feel  it  because  it  is  now  yours," 
answered  Dorothy,  with  a  faint  smile,  and 
still  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  por 
trait. 

"Oh,  I  am  young  and  strong,  but  he  was 
failing!  I  found  those  last  days  and  hours  of 
his  life — the  details  of  which,  no  doubt,  you 


326  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

have  heard  from  Margie — pathetic  in  the 
extreme." 

Dorothy,  however,  was  thinking  of  those 
others  whose  whole  lives  had  also  been  pathetic ; 
and  still  more,  perhaps,  of  the  burden  that  had 
been  laid,  by  the  original  of  that  resplendent 
portrait,  upon  the  man  before  her,  and  which 
the  latter  had  so  bravely  accepted.  Her  whole 
nature  was  in  revolt  because  of  the  injury 
done,  apart  from  all  other  things,  by  the 
father  to  the  son.  She  could  think  of  little 
else  just  then. 

"I  have  come  to  realize,  too,"  said  Sebas 
tian,  who  had  a  curious  desire  to  win  this 
girl  over  to  sympathy  with  his  father,  and 
to  make  her  feel  that  with  him  all  had  not 
been  unalloyed  happiness,  and  that  he,  too, 
was  to  be  pitied,— "I  have  come  to  realize 
that  a  man  in  growing  old  becomes  lonely 
with  a  loneliness  that  is  like  death." 

"Lonely,"  said  Dorothy,  with  a  scornful 
little  laugh,  "with  an  attractive  wife  and 
daughter,  not  to  speak  of  sons?" 

"Lonely   in   the  face   of   the  whole  world." 

"But  surely,"  Dorothy  went  on,  "there  must 
always  be  some  one  with  whom  the  man  is 
in  sympathy, — some  one  who  loves  him,  or 
who  understands  and  will  forgive  everything." 

"  But  loneliness  is  always  silent,"  urged  Sebas 
tian;  "and  silence  is  terrible.  It  shuts  one  in 
from  all  the  world." 

Both  knew  and  felt  that  they  had  drifted 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  327 

far  from  the  commonplace  groups  around 
them, — far  from  their  actual  surroundings.  It 
was  as  if  they  stood  alone  together,  heart  to 
heart  and  soul  to  soul,  for  those  few  thrilling 
moments.  They  were,  in  fact,  as  oblivious  to 
all  others  in  the  room  as  though  that  vast 
apartment  had  been  empty,  except  for  the 
portrait.  That  seemed  to  fill  far  more  than 
its  allotted  space. 

Sebastian's  back  was  to  the  room,  and  he 
let  his  eyes  look  deep  into  Dorothy's,  as  though 
they  were  saying: 

'You  know  all  now,  and  he  and  I  are  at 
your  mercy.  Deal  with  us  as  you  will." 

The  expression  of  those  other  eyes  seemed 
to  answer: 

'Yes,  I  know  all,  I  understand  all;  and  for 
you,  at  least,  there  is  sympathy  and  full 
loyalty." 

They  remained  thus  some  moments,  that 
seemed  to  each  close  packed  with  all  sorts  of 
emotion.  On  his  side  was  pleading,  with  a 
sweetness  that  the  gravity  of  the  situation  only 
rendered  deeper  and  more  perilous.  On  her 
side  was  the  one  thought  of  compensating  to 
Sebastian,  in  some  way,  for  all  that  he  must 
have  suffered,  and  at  the  same  time  of  making 
him  feel  quite  safe  in  the  knowledge  that  she 
possessed. 

"When  I  brought  you  in  here  this  evening," 
said  Sebastian,  in  a  voice  so  low,  as  to  be 
almost  a  whisper,  "I  knew,  I  feared,  what  it 


328  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

was  inevitable  you  should  discover.  I  have 
striven  to  keep  his  secret.  But,  oh,  you  must 
believe  me  that  long  before  I  met  you  I  was 
trying,  as  he  also  had  tried,  to  find  Elmira!" 

"I  have  never  doubted  that,  at  least  so  far 
as  you  are  concerned,"  said  Dorothy.  "But 
now  what  can  I  say,  what  assurance  can  I 
give  you  how  deeply  I  sympathize?" 

"Sympathy  more  precious  than  anything 
else  in  the  wide  world,"  answered  Sebastian. 

"And  now  there  is  another  thing,"  said  the 
girl.  "You  have  the  photograph  in  your 
hands.  It  must  never  be  seen  by  any  other 
eyes.  And,  since  it  has  become  unnecessary, 
I  give  you  my  permission,  which  I  am  sure 
Elmira  would  ratify,  to  destroy  it." 

"As  a  proof  of  your  confidence,"  said  Sebas 
tian,  "I  value  that  permission.  But  I  shall 
retain  it  for  the  present,  until  there  has  been 
a  full  explanation  with  Elmira,  and  until  the 
arrangements  which  I  have  been  making  for 
her  advantage  have  been  fully  completed.  I 
know  you  will  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I 
shall  feel  myself  relieved  of  a  great  burden 
when  Elmira's  future  has  been  secured." 

The  dining-room  by  that  time  was  nearly 
deserted;  and  it  was  Mrs.  Wilmot  herself  who 
came  to  remind  them,  in  her  pleasant,  friendly 
fashion,  that  the  Signor  was  going  to  sing 
again,  and  that  they  would  hear  better  in  the 
drawing-room. 

"I  need  not  tell  you,"  Sebastian  whispered 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  329 

to  Dorothy,  as  they  followed  his  mother  through 
the  pillars,  "that  she  does  not  know,  and  must 
never  know." 


330  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 


XXIII. 

Now,  Sebastian,  who  had  seriously  taken  to 
heart  the  few  simple  but  earnest  words  which 
Rosanna  had  spoken  to  him,  was  further  im 
pressed,  naturally,  by  what  Margie  had  said, 
as  to  the  prayers  that  were  being  offered  up 
and  the  covenant  that  had  been  made  upon 
his  behalf  by  those  three  who  were  so  deeply 
interested  in  his  welfare.  The  resolution  that 
was  taking  root  in  his  mind  had  been  brought 
to  the  culminating  point  during  that  inter 
view  with  Dorothy,  when  the  latter,  in  a 
scarcely  veiled  appeal  to  himself  which  he  could 
not  choose  but  understand,  had  urged  him  to 
return  to  his  God,  and  to  heal  the  breach 
which  had  been  opened  between  himself  and 
the  practices  of  his  youth.  Apart  from  any 
question  of  love,  or  the  attraction  which  drew 
him  toward  Dorothy,  the  innate  chivalry  of 
his  nature  led  him  to  respond  to  that  appeal, 
and  to  show  this  girl  that  her  words  had  not 
fallen  upon  deaf  ears.  Moreover,  that  faith 
which  had  been  darkened  in  the  mental  chaos 
that  had  followed  upon  his  father's  death,  was 
struggling  into  the  light  again,  and  power- 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  331 

fully  impelling  him  toward  the  only  refuge  of 
peace  and  security. 

One  midday  therefore  (having  purposely 
chosen  the  hour  following  upon  the  dinner  of 
the  community,  when  the  priest  he  sought 
would  most  likely  be  free),  he  found  himself 
in  a  plain,  square  room,  which  once  had  been 
familiar  to  him.  It  was  destitute  of  ornament, 
save  for  a  crucifix,  large  and  impressive,  and 
an  engraving  of  the  Mother  of  Sorrows.  Sebas 
tian  seated  himself  in  a  chair  and  waited, 
watching  the  sunlight  coming  in  through  the 
high  windows  and  making  patterns  upon  the 
polished  floor  with  a  peculiar  suggestion  of 
peacefulness. 

Sebastian's  mind  was  not,  however,  at  rest. 
He  was  still  struggling  with  all  sorts  of  con 
siderations  for  and  against  the  resolution  he 
had  taken;  and  the  struggle  seemed  to  grow 
and  strengthen,  as  if  this  peaceful  room  were 
really  a  battle-ground.  It  came  upon  him  with 
overwhelming  force  that  it  would  be  a  viola 
tion  of  his  promise  to  the  dead  to  talk  as  it 
would  be  necessary  to  do  to  the  priest,  and 
to  acquaint  him  with  so  much  that  had  hitherto 
been  buried  in  secrecy.  Indeed,  so  strong 
became  the  impulse  to  escape  before  the  re 
ligious  should  appear,  that  he  actually  rose 
to  his  feet  and  advanced  toward  the  door. 
The  porter,  who  was  placidly  saying  his  beads 
in  the  hall,  saw  the  movement  and  came 
forward. 

22 


332  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"You  must  not  get  tired  waiting,"  he  said 
pleasantly.  ''The  Father  for  whom  you  asked 
will  be  here  in  a  minute." 

With  an  odd  feeling  that  the  porter  was  a 
jailer  who  barred  his  escape,  Sebastian  sank 
once  more  into  a  chair.  He  had  not  to  wait 
long.  Presently  the  priest  appeared,  not  by 
that  door  upon  which  the  young  man's  eyes 
had  been  expectantly  fixed,  but  by  another 
behind  where  Sebastian  was  sitting.  The  door 
had  been  opened  so  quietly  that  the  young  man 
started  violently  when  a  hand  was  laid  upon 
his  shoulder  and  a  kindly  voice  said: 

"So  you  have  come  to  see  me  at  last!" 

Sebastian  rose  to  his  feet,   confusedly. 

"Yes,  Father,"  he  responded.  "I  have  been 
wanting  to  come  and  see  you  before,  but  I 
have  been  very  busy." 

"It  is  a  busy  world,"  remarked  the  priest. 
"We  are  like  ants  upon  our  hill.  But  sit  down, 
my  dear  boy, — sit  down,  and  let  us  talk!" 

He  was  shaking  Sebastian's  hand  all  the  time 
that  he  talked  thus,  and  smiling  into  his  face. 
A  new  confidence  and  hope  seemed  to  emanate 
from  the  venerable  figure,  and  those  lineaments, 
rather  harsh  and  rugged  in  outline,  but  breath 
ing  forth  benignancy.  A  sudden  and  irresistible 
longing  came  over  the  young  man  to  cast  all 
his  burdens  on  this  strength,  and  to  obtain 
the  guidance  so  sorely  needed. 

It  had  been  said,  as  Sebastian  had  long  ago 
heard,  that  this  man  was  a  soldier  in  his  youth, 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  333 

and  had  forsaken  that  career,  where  he  had 
already  obtained  speedy  advancement;  as  he 
had  previously  forsaken  his  ancestral  home, 
which  had  given  lodgement  during  the  centuries 
to  a  long  line  of  nobles,  and  of  men  who  had 
served  their  country  conspicuously,  and  had 
put  on  the  humble  garb  of  religion. 

"Now,  my  Sebastian,"  he  said, — "for  your 
name  is  Sebastian,  I  see  by  your  card,  and  I 
also  know  it  from  the  registers  of  one  of  our 
colleges, — what  is  it  we  are  going  to  talk  about, 
you  and  I?  You  can  speak  freely.  Although 
the  seal  of  confession  is  not  upon  our  dis 
course,  it  will  be  buried,  if  you  so  desire,  in 
the  same  oblivion." 

"Father,"  Sebastian  said,  "I  ought  to  tell 
you,  first  of  all,  that  I  have  been  staying  away 
from  church  and  giving  up  all  my  religious 
duties." 

"Ah!"  replied  the  old  priest,  with  a  deep 
sigh.  "You  have  been  as  a  reed  shaken  in  the 
desert.  The  world  is  that  desert.  You  have 
had  many  troubles,  cares,  temptations.  But 
One  has  been  waiting  for  you  all  the  time. 
And  now  His  Heart  will  be  glad  that  you  have 
come.  And  I  am  glad,  too,  as  if  a  beloved  son 
had  returned  to  his  father's  house." 

Possibly,  Sebastian  had  expected  reproaches, 
stern  reproof,  a  scathing  arraignment  of  his 
weakness;  but  this  kindness,  which  caught 
and  encircled  him,  as  it  were,  in  the  meshes  of 
a  net,  moved  him  to  the  verge  of  tears. 


334  THB  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"Would  you  wish,"  suggested  the  priest, 
very  gently,  "to  go  to  confession  first,  that  the 
Blood  of  Christ  may  wash  you  free  from  your 
sins  by  holy  absolution?" 

But  Sebastian,  who  had  not  counted  upon 
going  so  soon  to  confession,  begged  that  he 
might  be  allowed  first  to  tell  all,  and  afterward 
prepare  himself  a  little  for  the  Sacrament. 
The  priest  did  not  insist  further,  but  encour 
aged  him  to  speak  out  freely  and  without 
reserve,  as  if  he  were  indeed  at  confession. 

Then  the  young  man  poured  forth  his  heart, 
relating  everything  in  detail,  but  with  a  business 
like  conciseness  and  precision  such  as  would 
have  been  carried  into  any  commercial  affair. 
He  recounted  what  had  happened  upon  the 
day  of  his  father's  death, — their  return  home 
together,  and  the  conversation  that  had  taken 
place.  Unconsciously  dramatic,  he  brought 
before  his  hearer's  mind  his  own  uneasiness, 
that  had  led  him  to  go  and  find  his  father- 
first  at  work,  and  then  done  with  work  for 
ever  in  the  rest  of  death.  He  finally  described 
the  scene  in  his  father's  study, — that  awful, 
never-to-be-forgotten  midnight,  when  he  had 
been  brought  face  to  face  with  the  spectre 
from  his  father's  past;  and  when,  going  into 
the  room  where  the  mortal  remains  of  him  who 
had  sinned  and  repented  still  lay,  he  had 
registered  his  solemn  promise  to  keep  that 
secret  inviolable,  so  far  as  the  members  of  the 
family  or  of  the  household  were  concerned. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  335 

The  priest  listened  with  bent  head,  never 
interrupting  the  speaker  by  so  much  as  a 
gesture.  Once  before  he  had  heard  the  matter 
in  all  its  essential  details,  as,  indeed,  Sebas 
tian  had  suspected;  but  he  permitted  the 
young  man  to  continue  his  narrative  until  he 
concluded  with  the  explanation  that  he  had 
feared  his  vow  of  silence  would  be  broken  by 
speaking  of  the  matter  to  a  priest. 

"Oh,  that  could  not  be  so ! "  was  the  response. 
"It  would  be  a  wicked  promise,  and  one  not 
to  be  kept,  that  prevented  you  from  going 
to  your  God." 

"I  understand  that  now,"  said  Sebastian. 
"I  see  how  foolish  I  have  been." 

"And,  my  poor  boy,"  added  the  old  priest, 
with  infinite  gentleness,  "how  much  you  must 
have  suffered  in  trying  to  bear  that  burden 
alone,  when  you  might  have  had  that  strength 
to  lean  upon!" 

By  a  slight  gesture  he  indicated  the  crucifix, 
whose  majestic  calm  seemed  to  pervade  the 
apartment, — the  rigid  figure  so  lifelike;  the 
face  agonized  but  divine;  the  head  slightly 
bent  under  that  crown  of  most  excruciating 
torment, — a  crown  which,  more  than  any  other 
in  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth,  has  been  able 
to  gain  adherents,  and  to  hold  them  with  an 
imperishable  power. 

Meanwhile  the  old  priest,  with  his  head  upon 
his  breast,  seemed  to  consider  those  matters 
which  the  young  man  had  placed  before  him, 


336  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

and  to  permit,  perhaps,  the  suggestion  con 
tained  in  his  last  words  to  take  full  effect. 

"Sebastian,"  he  began,  after  a  brief  silence 
which  had  seemed  to  bind  the  room  as  with  a 
spell,  "your  father,  indeed,  sinned;  but,  as 
I  told  you  before,  he  repented  with  so  true  a 
sorrow  that  I  feel  assured  he  has  found  mercy. 
And  you  must  know  that  he  acquainted  me, 
as  a  confidential  friend,  with  these  matters. 
He  did  not  bind  me  to  secrecy;  but  that,  of 
course,  was  implied, — except  in  such  an  emer 
gency  as  this  which  has  arisen,  and  which  I 
knew  would  arise,  since  I  have  been  expecting 
you  to  come  to  me  for  help.  He  also  informed 
me  of  the  efforts  which  he  had  made,  both 
before  and  after  his  marriage  with  your  mother, 
to  find  the  woman  who  had  been  his  wife. 
For  it  was  his  desire  all  the  time  to  make  her 
such  financial  compensation  as  he  could.  That 
poor  woman,  you  now  tell  me,  has  long  been 
dead;  but  the  child,  the  daughter,  is  still 
living,  and  has  been  found  by  quite  providential 
circumstances.  Your  late  parent  expected  to 
live  yet  some  years,  and  made  still  more  efforts 
for  the  discovery  of  those  people,  and  to  carry 
out  himself  those  arrangements  which  he  desired 
to  make  in  their  favor.  So  we  are  all  accustomed 
to  count  upon  that  which  least  of  all  other 
things  is  ours — time." 

While  Sebastian  listened  to  these  observa 
tions  of  the  priest,  it  was  borne  in  upon  him  more 
forcibly  than  ever  how  futile  had  been  his 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  337 

concealment,  and  his  fear  of  coming  straight 
to  this  excellent  adviser  to  unburden  himself 
of  those  facts  with  which  all  the  time  the 
latter  had  been  familiar,  as  also  with  the  dead 
man's  hopes  and  wishes. 

The  priest,  after  a  short  pause,  during  which 
he  apparently  waited  for  the  young  man  to 
speak,  went  on: 

"Although  I  was  aware  of  these  circumstances, 
I  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  speak  until  you  had 
made  the  first  advances.  It  was  acting  upon 
my  advice  that  your  father  left  you  those 
detailed  instructions,  making  you  acquainted 
with  all  the  sad  circumstances,  and  with  what 
he  had  previously  done,  or  desired  to  do,  for 
those  two  unfortunates.  When  I  called  at  your 
home  soon  after  your  parent's  death,  it  was 
my  hope  that  you  would  then  break  the  silence 
and  give  me  the  right  to  console  and  assist 
you.  But  since  your  father  informed  me,  on 
that  last  morning  of  his  life,  when  he  came 
to  assist  at  early  Mass,  that  he  had  almost 
finished  a  paper,  addressed  to  you  containing 
his  testamentary  instructions  on  all  those 
points,  there  appeared  to  me  nothing  that  I 
could  do.  He  expressed  the  fullest  confidence 
that  you  would  carry  out  his  instructions  to 
the  letter.  Of  course,  if  your  father  had  lived, 
and  if  that  poor  woman  had  been  found,  graver 
and  more  delicate  questions  might  have  arisen. 
But  these  need  not  be  discussed  now.  God  has 
been  very  merciful." 


338  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Sebastian  bowed  his  head,  as  the  priest  thus 
spoke.  He  knew  of  what  the  latter  was 
thinking. 

"Now,  my  son,"  continued  the  priest,  "I 
felt  that  you  would  eventually  come  to  me. 
As  I  have  told  you,  I  expected  you  long  before. 
And  you  will  see  how  futile  was  your  fear  of 
me,  or  of  any  other  priest  of  God.  For,  the 
first  duty  that  would  necessarily  be  recom 
mended  to  you  would  be  silence,  discretion, 
absolute  secrecy,  unless  where  some  vital 
question  of  right  or  justice  was  concerned." 

"I  see  all  that  now,  Father,"  admitted  Sebas 
tian.  "I  realize  my  mistake.  But,  happily, 
it  is  not  irrevocable." 

"No,"  said  the  priest.  "But  no  doubt  you 
found,  as  men  are  apt  to  do,  how  awful  to  the 
human  soul  is  silence, — that  silence  into  which 
no  other  fellow-being  may  penetrate.  It  may 
be  partly  for  that  reason  our  merciful  God  has 
provided  the  sacred  tribunal  of  Penance,  where 
the  overburdened  soul  may  find  relief,  and 
where  the  sins  and  the  sorrows  of  humanity 
may  be  sunk  as  in  a  fathomless  lake.  For  its 
secrets  shall  never  be  known  until  the  dread 
accounting  day." 

It  seemed  almost  as  if  the  old  priest  were 
communing  with  himself  as  he  thus  spoke, 
rather  than  addressing  his  awestricken  listener. 
The  latter,  meanwhile,  sat  with  a  sensation  of 
relief  so  strong  and  tangible  that  it  moved  him, 
self-contained  and  self-reliant  as  he  had  always 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  339 

been,  to  the  verge  of  tears;  for  here,  after  his 
long  repression  and  his  long  fear  of  betraying 
himself  by  word  or  gesture,  he  could  discuss, 
in  all  its  details,  with  its  complexities  and  its 
difficulties,  that  pitiful  story  of  human  weak 
ness  and  human  wrongdoing.  The  holy  calm 
of  that  room  had  been  broken  by  many  such 
recitals,  which  could  be  made  only  in  such  an 
atmosphere,  with  the  shadow  of  the  Crucified 
projecting  over  all;  and  to  men  who  had 
themselves  risen  above  human  cares  and  sorrows 
and  passions,  and  whose  very  frailties  were 
swallowed  up  in  the  immensity  of  their  sacred 
calling.  To  them  there  were  no  secrets:  the 
heart  of  humanity,  burned  and  seared  by 
its  vices  and  weaknesses,  was  an  open  book; 
their  anointed  hands  were  raised  to  pardon; 
their  lips  opened  to  utter  counsel,  dictated 
not  by  human  wisdom  but  by  that  which  is 
divine. 

"And  now,  my  good  Sebastian— my  brave, 
generous  Sebastian,  who  have  endured  so  many 
trials, — you  will  not  leave  me  without  going 
down  upon  your  knees — in  the  church,  if  you 
will,  or  in  my  room  upstairs,  where  many  of 
my  young  men  penitents  prefer  to  come,— 
and  receiving  holy  absolution.  That  is  the 
gift  which  I  will  offer  you  to-day." 

All  Sebastian's  repugnance  to  the  idea  of 
confession  had  vanished.  He  asked  only  that 
he  might  be  permitted  to  go  into  the  adjoining 
church  for  a  few  moments,  to  make  the  neces- 


340  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

sary  preparation;  after  which  he  would  follow 
the  priest  to  his  room. 

"It  is  not  necessary,"  said  the  latter,  "that 
you  should  leave  the  building.  Our  chapel  is 
vacant  at  this  hour.  It  is  quieter  even  than 
the  church,  and  you  shall  stay  there  as  long  or 
as  short  a  time  as  you  will.  I  shall  be  waiting 
upstairs." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  chapel;  and,  throwing 
open  the  door,  Sebastian  was  left  alone  in  its 
silence  and  religious  recollection.  In  that  holy 
spot,  shut  out  from  the  world,  there  seemed  to 
linger  some  reflection  of  the  prayers  and  sacri 
fices  of  all  the  holy  men  who  in  the  grey  dawn 
of  the  early  morning,  while  the  rest  of  the  world 
still  slept,  or  when  the  day  was  declining  and 
the  shadows  falling,  gathered  there  to  obtain 
new  strength,  for  the  stubborn  fight  they  were 
waging  against  a  world  that  hated  and  calum 
niated  them. 

When  Sebastian  knocked  at  the  priest's 
door,  the  latter,  investing  himself  with  stole 
and  surplice,  prepared  to  hear  the  other's  con 
fession,  and  to  speak  a  few  burning  words  on 
the  necessity  of  sorrow, — sorrow,  above  all, 
for  the  sins  that  were  avowed.  Those  words 
of  a  saint  penetrated  so  deep  into  Sebastian's 
soul  that,  long  after  the  confessor  had  gone  to 
rest  in  the  community  cemetery,  they  remained 
to  be  the  penitent's  guide  under  similar 
circumstances. 

Sebastian    arose,    feeling    light-hearted    and 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  341 

merry  as  he  had  not  felt  since  boyhood  or  the 
pleasant  college  days;  and  the  venerable  priest, 
throwing  off  his  solemnity  as  some  ceremonial 
garment,  jested  and  laughed  with  the  whole 
hearted  enjoyment  of  a  child.  He  had  many 
a  droll  or  curious  anecdote  to  relate;  and  he 
was  prepared  to  listen  with  interest  to  any 
thing,  no  matter  how  trivial,  that  the  young 
man  had  to  tell. 

After  a  time  he  had  reverted,  however,  to 
the  main  topic  that  must  be  occupying  his 
penitent's  mind. 

"We  shall  have  to  think  it  over  together," 
he  said, — "all  these  difficulties  that  have  arisen. 
What,  for  instance,  can  be  done  about  that 
beloved  little  sister — Margie  you  call  her?  I 
know  Dr.  Dever  very  well;  and  in  this  whole 
city  you  could  not  have  found,  if  you  tried,  a 
more  excellent  husband  for  that  charming 
young  girl,  whom  I  have  remembered  with 
pleasure  ever  since  my  meeting  with  her  at 
your  house.  Perhaps  we  shall  have  to  tell 
Gerald.  It  will  be  painful,  but  it  will  be  the 
most  straightforward  course.  And  if  you  can 
not  come  forth  from  your  silence,  I  will — at 
your  request,  but  not  otherwise — take  that 
office  upon  myself." 

"I  am  hoping,"  said  Sebastian,  to  whom  the 
idea  was  still  exceedingly  distasteful,  "that 
Margie  will  decide  otherwise.  I  wish — oh,  how 
I  wish  that  she  would  develop,  as  I  used  to 
think  possible,  a  vocation!" 


342  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

'That  would  be  a  good  wish  for  any  one," 
laughed  the  priest;  "but  it  would  be  painful 
to  Gerald.  And  I  do  not  know  if  Miss  Margie 
would  allow  us  to  put  on  her  the  cap  and  veil 
of  a  religious.  But  there  are  one  or  two  things 
about  which  I  want  to  question  you  before  you 
leave  me.  I  have  taken  all  these  matters  to 
heart,  more  than  you  can  think;  and  I  am 
going  to  help  you,  if  there  is  any  way  of  doing 
so.  Have  you  ever  considered  how  important, 
my  Sebastian,  is  the  precise  date  of  this  woman's 
death." 

"But,"    the    young    man    stammered,    "my 
father  seemed  to  be  quite  convinced  that  she— 
that  Elmira  was  not  dead  when  he  contracted 
his  second  marriage." 

"So  he  may  have  thought,"  said  the  priest, 
shrewdly;  "but  so  he  could  not  have  known, 
since  he  was  not  certain  at  the  date  of  his  own 
death  that  the  woman  had  predeceased  him. 
I  am  sure,  however,  that  you  have  asked  this 
question  of  Miss  Kent,  or  that  she  has  been  told 
by  her  correspondent." 

"No!"  cried  Sebastian,  feeling  a  tide  of 
excitement  rising  in  him,  and  a  new  light  shining 
upon  him  that  had  never  dawned  before. 
"Elmira  said  distinctly,  in  a  letter,  which  Miss 
Kent  permitted  me  to  read,  and  she  had  often 
said  it  before,  that,  on  account  of  the  confu 
sion  in  her  head,  she  could  not  remember  the 
date  of  her  mother's  death.  She  knew  only 
that  it  was  many  years  ago." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  343 

"Ah,  that  will  complicate  matters!"  answered 
the  priest.  "But  perhaps  we  may  be  able  to 
jog  her  memory,  even  if  that  faculty  be  tem 
porarily  obscured." 

"I  have  but  little  hope,"  said  Sebastian; 
' '  and  indeed  I  never  before  thought  that  it 
could  have  taken  place  so  long  ago." 

"Well,  at  least,"  observed  the  priest,  "you 
may  tell  me  the  name  of  this  woman." 

"The  Elmira  who  was  my  father's  wife," 
said  Sebastian,  "had  evidently  retained  her 
maiden  name,  or  chosen  another  to  cover  her 
flight." 

"Of  course,"  replied  the  priest;  "and  likely 
the  latter,  which  would  have  been  more  difficult 
for  your  late  father  to  trace." 

"  Her  Christian  names,"  said  Sebastian,  "were 
Sarah  Elmira." 

"Sarah  Elmira?"  echoed  the  priest,  as  if 
striving  to  recall  something.  "The  latter  is  a 
rather  uncommon  name." 

"And  the  family  name  by  which  she  was 
known  was  Johnson." 

"Johnson?"  cried  the  priest, — "Sarah  Elmira 
Johnson.  Wonderful  are  the  ways  of  God!  I 
begin  to  think,  I  begin  to  hope,  that  there  is 
a  way  in  which  I  can,  indeed,  help  you.  But 
I  should  like  to  look  at  the  notes  which  it  is 
my  habit  to  keep  of  extraordinary  cases  that 
have  come  in  my  way." 

He  rose  and  went  to  a  little  corner  cupboard 
where  there  were  a  few  books  of  devotion  or 


344  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

of  reference,  and  some  notebooks  wherein  he 
had  marked  down  curious  facts.  These  latter 
he  turned  over,  while  Sebastian  sat  watching 
him  with  strained  eyes  and  a  heart  that  was 
beating  fast.  He  studied  each  date  upon  the 
cover,  and  at  last  found  one  upon  which  he 
laid  an  impressive  finger.  He  brought  it  over 
to  the  table,  and  drew  thither  a  chair,  upon 
which  he  seated  himself  opposite  the  expectant 
Sebastian.  Having  turned  over  the  leaves  for 
some  moments  in  silence,  he  began  at  last 
to  read: 

"  On  the  evening  of  November  the  i2th,  while 
I  was  giving  a  mission  in  the  town  of  Wichita, 
Kansas,  I  was  called  to  attend  a  woman,  a 
non-Catholic,  who  expressed  a  great  desire  to 
see  me.  When  I  arrived,  she  was  unconscious, 
and  could  consequently  tell  me  nothing.  I 
learned  from  the  woman  of  the  house,  an  Irish 
Catholic,  that  she  was  a  Methodist,  in  so  far 
as  she  had  practised  any  religion;  and  that  she 
had  one  daughter,  whom,  however,  I  did  not 
see,  but  who,  she  thought,  was  about  twelve 
or  fourteen  years  of  age.  It  was  her  belief, 
though  she  was  not  positive,  that  her  lodger 
had  a  husband  alive  somewhere,  but  she  had 
been  very  reticent  about  her  affairs.  There 
was  little  I  could  do.  The  patient  died  that 
night;  and  the  girl,  whom  I  saw  then  for  the 
first  time,  could  not  be  induced  to  speak.  She 
was  adopted,  as  I  learned  later,  by  a  woman 
of  that  town.  Now,  my  Sebastian,"  the  priest 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  345 

said,  laying  down  the  book,  "what  we  have  to 
find  out  are  certain  details  of  time  and  of 
place.  The  latter,  no  doubt,  can  be  furnished 
by  Miss  Kent  or  her  correspondent.  And  then 
it  remains  for  us  only  to  compare  the  date 
in  this  book  with  that  of  your  father's  marriage." 

Details  which  Sebastian  had  scarcely  noted 
when  he  read  the  letter  now  flamed  up  and 
seemed  to  burn  in  his  brain, — the  name  of  the 
southwestern  town;  the  fact  that  the  mother 
had  died  unconscious,  without  revealing,  as 
she  had  previously  promised  to  do,  her  husband's 
name;  and  the  fact  that  Elmira,  the  daughter, 
had  been  but  a  growing  girl  at  the  time.  In 
his  eagerness,  Sebastian  fairly  gasped  out  his 
next  words: 

"Those  details  that  I  have  learned  from 
the  letter  which  Miss  Kent  gave  me  to  read 
agree  exactly  with  your  notes,  Father.  All 
that  I  want  to  know  now  from  that  note-book 
is  the  date  of  this  death." 

"And  that  you  shall  have,"  declared  the 
priest,  "if  you  will  first  give  me  the  date  of 
your  father's  second  marriage." 

Sebastian  with  trembling  lips  mentioned  that 
date,  which  was,  of  course,  perfectly  familiar 
to  him.  The  face  of  the  priest  lighted  up 
instantly;  tears  of  sympathy  stood  in  his  eyes; 
and,  rising  from  his  chair,  he  grasped  the  young 
man  by  both  hands. 

"My  dear,  dear  boy,"  he  cried  joyously, 
"let  us  give  thanks  and  praise  to  God!  For, 


346  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

since  the  dates  in  that  notebook  are  absolutely 
correct,  and  since  you  can  accurately  supply 
that  other  date,  then  I  may  tell  you  that  Sarah 
Elmira  Johnson — or  shall  we  call  her  Sarah 
Elmira  Wilmot? — died  just  six  months  before 
your  father's  second  marriage." 

The  relief  was  so  extreme  that  Sebastian, 
sinking  into  a  chair,  laid  his  head  upon  the 
table  in  a  passion  of  sobs  that  fairly  shook  his 
frame. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  347 


XXIV. 

IT  had  been  a  beautiful  day  for  that  time  of 
year, — full  of  soft  lights  and  shadows:  pale 
gleams,  that  had  something  sad  and  wintry 
in  them,  suddenly  bursting  into  exuberant 
sunshine,  that  recalled  the  heart  of  mid 
summer, — the  merry  days  of  the  season's 
prime. 

Margie  had  gone  for  a  long  walk  with  Doro 
thy, — the  latter  arrayed  in  her  very  best,  that 
she  might  not  be  "altogether  an  incongruous 
figure"  in  the  throng  that  blazed  the  trail  of 
Fashion  the  whole  length  of  the  Avenue. 

"It  would  be  nice  to  be  rich,  Margie,"  said 
her  companion,  with  a  sigh.  "But  you  are 
rich  already,  so  you  can't  understand  the 
feeling  that  sometimes  comes  over  one  who  has 
always  been  poor.  Of  course  there  are  other 
times  when  nothing  matters  except  to  be  young, 
able  to  enjoy  life  and  to  struggle  for  oneself. 
I  am  not  sure,"  she  added  thoughtfully,  "that 
I  should  not  miss  the  struggle  if  suddenly  I 
had  all  I  wanted  for  myself  and  others." 

She  was  in  a  mood  of  exhilaration  that  day, 
because  she  was  still  rejoicing — though,  with 
Margie,  she  had  grown  very  reticent  on  the 


23 


348  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

subject  of  Sebastian— at  the  thought  of  those 
brief  passages  between  herself  and  the  head 
of  the  Wilmot  firm,  in  the  drawing-room  at 
Mrs.  Rollins',  when  he  had  all  but  betrayed 
himself,  and  when  she  had  felt  that  his  secret 
was  his  no  longer;  and  again  on  that  mem 
orable  occasion,  before  the  portrait,  at  the 
house  in  Gramercy  Park.  It  was  then  that  her 
own  sentiments  had  also  shown  themselves 
in  their  true  colors — as  love.  She  scarcely 
attempted  any  longer  to  conceal  from  herself 
that  fact  as  she  walked  thus  soberly  along  in 
the  sunshine,  joyful  in  the  consciousness  that 
she  loved  Sebastian  Wilmot. 

One  thing  appeared  very  certain  to  her: 
that  she  could  never  marry  any  one  else.  And 
if  for  some  reason  (she  wondered  if  it  could 
be  for  that  reason  which  had  been  suddenly 
made  clear  to  her  when  standing  before  the 
portrait)  he  did  not  come  forward  to  ask  her, 
then  she  would  remain  as  she  was — single, 
earning  the  bread  of  independence,  all  the 
days  of  her  life.  When  she  had  expressed  the 
idle  wish  to  be  rich,  it  occurred  to  her  that  only 
Sebastian  Wilmot  could  realize  that  desire, 
while  giving  her  at  the  same  time  something 
infinitely  more  precious,  for  which  she  would 
have  been  willing  to  sacrifice  all  the  rest.  It 
would  be  pleasant  to  be  made  rich  by  him,  and, 
through  his  instrumentality,  to  be  able  to  help 
more  efficaciously  those  whom,  in  her  present 
circumstances,  she  had  been  trying  to  help. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  349 

But  she  acknowledged  that,  if  he  were  to  lose 
all  his  wealth,  she  would  joyfully  begin  life 
over  again  at  his  side,  and  find  happiness  in 
so  doing.  And  this  acknowledgment  she  was 
able  to  make  deliberately,  since  she  had  no 
romantic  idea  of  poverty,  but  was  fully  con 
versant  with  its  stern  realities,  its  continual 
deprivations. 

Whenever  Margie,  who  was  curious  as  to 
her  friend's  attitude  and  deeply  interested  in 
knowing  how  the  affair  with  Sebastian  was 
progressing,  brought  that  brother's  name  into 
the  conversation,  Dorothy  made  efforts  to  elude 
it.  She  called  Margie's  attention  to  some  passing 
motor,  or  turned  aside  to  look  in  at  a  shop 
window.  Once  this  had  occurred  when  the 
pedestrians  were  opposite  a  florist's  window, 
to  which  Dorothy,  with  exclamations  of  delight, 
called  her  companion's  attention.  It  was  ablaze 
with  gorgeous  bloom, — those  that  the  late 
season  afforded,  or  those  that  had  been  brought 
thither  from  the  South  or  from  some  hothouse. 
Their  colors  of  glowing  red,  of  purple  rich  as 
the  ripened  grape,  of  yellow  or  of  dull  crimson, 
were  all  set  in  living  green. 

Now,  between  the  beauty  of  flowers  more, 
perhaps,  than  any  other  form  of  beauty,  and 
that  state  of  mind  which  finds  all  Nature  and 
the  world  around  beautiful  and  harmonious, 
there  is  a  strong  affinity.  The  rich  coloring,  the 
delicate  pattern,  the  sentiment  that  lurks  in 
each  petal  or  lies  hidden  in  the  deep  hearts, 


350  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

seem  to  correspond  to  that  sentiment  which, 
in  the  young  and  ardent,  constitutes  the  joy 
of  living.  Dorothy  then  feasted  her  eyes  upon 
those  flowers,  with  a  new  and  intimate  pleasure 
in  their  loveliness;  and  in  the  eyes  that  gazed 
there  was  a  mist  of  tears,  and  on  the  lips  a 
smile  tender  and  radiant.  And  yet  Sebastian 
had  spoken  no  word  of  love,  but  deep  in  her 
heart  she  knew.  He  had  never  hinted  at  the 
possibility  of  coming  forward  as  a  suitor,  and 
Mrs.  Rollins  had  told  her  definitely  that  he 
was  not  a  marrying  man.  But  what  did  that 
matter?  How  did  that  prevent  her  intuitions 
from  being  correct,  and  her  knowledge  from 
being  certain  ? 

"1  wish,"  said  Margie,  suddenly  and  petu 
lantly,  "that  you  and  Sebastian  would  make 
up  your  minds." 

"To  what?"  asked  Dorothy,  and  this  time 
she  stopped  and  directed  her  companion  toward 
a  milliner's  window,  where,  unfortunately,  only 
a  specimen  or  two  of  the  season's  headgear  were 
displayed. 

"To  fall  in  love  or  not." 

"Oh,  is  that  what  you  want  us  to  do?" 
said  Dorothy,  apparently  intent  on  a  black 
velvet  toque,  with  a  single  costly  plume,  that 
would  have  looked  enchanting  on  her  own 
head. 

"I  have  been  wanting  that  for  a  long  time," 
added  Margie. 

"It  is  a  parlous  thing,  this  falling  in  love," 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  351 

said    Dorothy,  with    a   happy,    rippling   laugh. 

"Not  for  two  people  so  perfectly  suited  to 
each  other." 

"Are  we?" 

'To  be  sure !  And,  then,  if  you  will  only  take 
my  advice — I  am  certain  Sebastian  has  done 
so  already — the  next  thing  will  be  a  wedding." 

' '  Oh,  you  must  have  skipped  lots  of  chapters ! ' ' 
cried  Dorothy.  "That  comes  in  only  at  the 
end  of  the  volume." 

"For  I  want  to  be  bridesmaid." 
'You  may  be  sure  of  that — if  ever  I  am 
married,"  replied  Dorothy.  "But  I  am  con 
vinced  that  your  wedding  will  come  long  before, 
and  I  shall  have  to  be  content  with — what  is 
it  they  call  it  now? — a  matron  of  honor." 

A  shadow  passed  over  Margie's  face  and  she 
looked  troubled  at  that  observation,  recalling 
Sebastian's  grave  words  when  he  had  tried  to 
dissuade  her  from  all  thoughts  of  marriage. 

"For  I  know  quite  well,"  declared  Dorothy, 
"that  your  anxiety  on  my  behalf  is  just  a  case 
of  misery  loves  company.  So  you  and  the 
handsome  Gerald  will  have  to  lead  the  way, 
and  sometime  I  may  follow,  though  I  can't 
see  yet  that  there  is  any  bridegroom  in  sight." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  are  trying  to  do," 
said  Margie,  solemnly, — "to  bluff.  But  it's  no 
use.  I  know  just  how  everything  is  going  to 
turn  out." 

"Why,  you  have  developed  into  a  proph 
etess,"  laughed  Dorothy.  "But  you  had  better 


352  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

not  be  giving  out  any  of  these  predictions  to 
your  brother, — or  I  shall  have  to  do  something 
desperate,  just  to  prove  the  absence  of  com 
plicity.  But,  really,  Margie,  isn't  that  an  ideal 
little  toque?  And  the  brown  one  over  there, 
with  just  the  faintest  touch  of  gold,  would 
suit  you  to  perfection.  I  wish  they  had  put 
out  a  lot  more  hats.  It  is  the  only  opportunity 
poor  girls  have  of  feasting  their  eyes,  and— 
stealing  ideas.  I  wonder,  by  the  way,  if  that 
is  quite  fair  or  honest?" 

Arm  in  arm,  the  two  girls  moved  on  their 
way, — now  in  the  sunlight,  now  in  the  deep 
shadow,  projected  by  massive  buildings. 

Sebastian  in  the  meantime  was  rushing  up 
town,  with  an  inward  exhilaration,  the  result 
of  his  interview  with  the  priest,  and  his  wonder 
ful  discovery,  which  carried  him  along  at  a 
tremendous  pace.  Just  above  Forty-Second 
Street,  on  the  Avenue,  in  the  shadow  of  the 
reservoir,  he  very  nearly  ran  into  Mrs.  Rollins. 
He  stopped  at  once  to  greet  her. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Rollins,"  he  said  breathlessly,  "I 
am  so  glad  to  meet  you!  I  was  just  wondering 
how  I  should  arrange  things.  May  I  walk  with 
you  a  little  way?" 

He  accommodated  his  pace  to  hers,  and 
walked  on  with  her;  though  he  saw  she  was 
plainly  going  in  the  opposite  direction  to  her 
house,  whither  his  own  course  had  been  tending. 
Mrs.  Rollins,  whose  manner  was  still  somewhat 
cool  and  dry,  wondered  what  on  earth  it  could 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  353 

be  that  the  young  man  wanted  to  say.  And 
the  more  so,  as  she  noted  at  once  the  excite 
ment  in  his  manner  and  the  new  and  joyous 
expression  upon  his  face.  It  seemed  to  her, 
in  fact,  as  she  cast  sidelong  glances  at  him, 
that  years  might  have  been  taken  from  his  age 
since  that  day  when,  haggard  and  careworn, 
he  had  come  to  ask  permission  for  an  inter 
view  with  Miss  Kent. 

Commenting  upon  this  circumstance,  Mrs. 
Rollins  said: 

'You  are  looking  very  much  better  than 
when  I  saw  you  last." 

Sebastian,  who  had  been  trying  to  arrange 
in  what  form  of  words  he  should  proffer  his 
request,  answered  hastily: 

"Oh,  yes,  I  am  all  right, — feeling  as  well  as 
possible!  But  one  reason  why  I  was  so  glad 
to  meet  you  is  that  I  was  going  to  telephone 
and  ask  you  if  I  might  call  upon  Miss  Kent 
this  afternoon  at  your  house." 

"Another  business  affair, — another  photo 
graph  to  be  shown?"  asked  Mrs.  Rollins, 
ironically. 

Sebastian,  laughing  boyishly,  shook  his 
head. 

"Come,  come,  now,  my  dear  Sebastian!" 
the  lady  said,  though  her  tone  was  kindly, 
and  her  old  prepossession  in  favor  of  this  young 
man  was  rising  strong  within  her.  "This  will 
never  do.  On  one  pretence  or  another,  I  suppose 
you  will  contrive  to  see  her  as  often  as  possible 


354  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

until   I   shall  have   to   send  her  home.     What 
does  it  all  mean?" 

"The  usual  thing,"  said  Sebastian,  smiling 
frankly  into  her  inquiring  eyes, — "the  moth 
always  rushing,  at  any  risk,  toward  the  candle." 

"The  moth  must  positively  keep  away  from 
my  candle." 

"You  are  determined  he  shall  not  singe 
himself." 

"And,  besides,  I  want  to  protect  the  candle." 

' '  But  you  must  really  give  me  this  one 
permission,"  observed  Sebastian,  in  his  most 
persuasive  manner.  ' '  I  think  it  will  be  quite 
enough  to  settle  everything,  one  way  or  another. 
Perhaps,  indeed,  the  candle  will  turn  upon 
the  moth." 

"But,  Sebastian,"  said  the  lady,  severely, 
"you  seem  to  be  serious." 

"I    am    serious,"    he    answered  -  gravely, — 
"heart  and  soul  in  earnest,  Mrs.  Rollins.    What 
I  want  to  ask  Miss  Kent  this  afternoon  is  to 
marry  me  or  else  put  me  out  of  pain  and  have 
done  with  it, — burn  up  the  moth." 

Mrs.  Rollins  stopped  and  gazed  at  him  with 
open-mouthed  astonishment;  while,  by  an  in 
voluntary  movement,  she  drew  him  out  of  the 
way  of  the  passers-by,  and  nearer  to  the  wall 
of  the  reservoir,  the  opposite  end  of  which 
they  had  just  then  reached. 

"But  I  thought  you  told  me — well,  something 
very  different?" 

"Yes,"  agreed  Sebastian:    "I  told  you  that 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  355 

it  was  impossible  for  me  to  think  of  marrying; 
and  the  Giant  Despair — do  you  remember  the 
Giant  Despair  in  the  panorama  of  our  child 
hood? — had  fast  hold  of  me  that  day.  But 
now  it  is  quite  different.  Don't  you  see  how 
blue  the  sky  is  up  there,  Mrs.  Rollins,  and  how 
the  sun  is  shining?" 

Mrs.  Rollins,  in  the  agitation  of  her  mind, 
gave  a  casual  glance  upward;  but  the  glance 
went  no  farther  than  the  wall  of  the  reservoir, 
from  which  the  damp  was  oozing. 

"You  are  a  mad  boy,  Sebastian!"  she  cried. 
"What  have  the  sky  and  the  sun  to  do  with 
these  practical  matters?" 

"They  are  only  typical." 

"Well,  let  me  see!"  went  on  Mrs.  Rollins. 
"You  are  wanting  to  marry  Dorothy,  and  are 
asking  my  permission  to  go  and  propose  to 
her." 

"Yes,  I  am,"  declared  Sebastian;  "and 
trembling  in  my  boots — or  at  least  I  shall  be 
when  you  have  given  your  consent  and  I  find 
myself  really  in  her  presence." 

The  lady,  in  her  own  despite,  was  smiling 
sympathetically.  There  is  something  so  infec 
tious  in  gladness  of  heart.  And,  then,  she  could 
not  help  thinking  what  a  splendid  match  this 
would  be  for  Dorothy,  whom,  moreover,  she 
half  suspected  of  a  genuine  fondness  for  the 
young  man.  Her  family  at  home  were  so  very 
poor, — poorer  than  ever  just  now,  so  that  she 
had  to  send  them  almost  all  her  earnings;  and 


356  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

there  were  such  a  number  of  them,  mostly  too 
young  as  yet  to  help  themselves.  And,  perhaps, 
after  all,  the  lady  reflected,  Mrs.  Alfred  may 
have  been  mistaken.  At  the  worst,  Sebastian 
might  settle  down.  So  many  young  men  were 
wild;  and  the  very  fact  that  the  youngest 
Wilmot  now  wanted  to  marry  and  to  settle  up 
this  matter  was  in  his  favor.  All  these  and 
many  more  thoughts  were  circling  under  Mrs. 
Rollins'  fashionable  bonnet;  and  she  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  perhaps  she  had  better 
not  bar  the  way,  if  Dorothy  were  willing  to 
take  the  risk.  Sebastian  was  certainly  good- 
tempered  and  clever,  and  had  been  very  devoted 
to  his  mother  and  sister. 

"You  see,"  Sebastian  went  on,  "I  have  been 
so  very  much  in  love  with  her  all  the  time  that 
it  seems  now  as  if  I  could  never  tell  her  quickly 
enough,  and  make  an  effort  to  win  her  before 
anything  else  might  turn  up." 

He  made  this  admission  deliberately  to  Mrs. 
Rollins  (though  he  would  have  preferred  not 
to  talk  about  the  affair),  because  he  felt  that 
in  some  sort  he  owed  it  to  Dorothy  on  account 
of  the  explanation  he  had  previously  made  to 
Mrs.  Rollins. 

"Well,"  said  that  lady,  forsaking  the  reser 
voir  and  beginning  to  walk  again,  with  the 
young  man  at  her  side,  "  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
to  let  Dorothy  decide  for  herself.  But  you 
know  that  I  have  heard  things  that  have  made 
me  very  anxious." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  357 

"And  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,"  cried 
Sebastian,  "that  the  things  you  have  heard 
are  all  moonshine!  And,  if  you  wish,  I  shall 
get  your  informant,  who  is  quite  well  known 
to  me,  to  tell  you  that  she  has  been  utterly 
mistaken." 

"Oh,  I  assure  you,"  began  Mrs.  Rollins,  "if 
you  mean  Mrs.  Alfred  Wilmot— 

"Mrs.  Alfred  Wilmot  be  hanged,"  said  Sebas 
tian,  half  whimsically;  "or  at  least  let  her 
tongue  be  put  in  pickle." 

' '  But  do  you  think  for  one  moment  she  would 
have  spoken  to  me  of  these  stories  if  there  was 
not  something  in  them?" 

"All  I  know,"  said  Sebastian,  "is  that  there 
is  absolutely  nothing  in  them.  The  worst  that 
could  be  alleged  against  me — and,  of  course, 
that  was  bad  enough — was  that  I  neglected 
my  religion  for  a  time.  That  is  all  right  now, 
thank  God!  I  have  been  to  see  the  priest, 
and  in  future  that  is  not  likely  to  happen." 

"About  religion,"  said  Mrs.  Rollins,  "I  can 
not  judge.  Few  men  nowadays — I  mean 
amongst  my  acquaintances — seem  to  have  any; 
though  I  will  say  that  we  rather  expect  you 
Catholics  to  have  more,  and  to  live  up  to  your 
profession.  But,  from  my  point  of  view,  I 
could  not  very  well  oppose  an  eligible  suitor 
for  Miss  Kent  on  the  ground  of  religion.  Still, 
it  is  satisfactory  to  hear  that  you  mean  to 
attend  your  church  in  future.  It  is  a  safeguard." 

"A  great  one,"   agreed  Sebastian,   who  was 


358  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

getting  anxious,  however,  to  obtain  her  final 
word  on  the  subject,  the  import  of  which  he 
could  now  foresee. 

"Well,  if  I  may  accept  your  assurance,"  the 
lady  said,  "that  there  is  no  serious  objection 
in  your  present  conduct  ? ' ' 

'There  is  nothing,"  said  Sebastian,  gravely, 
"either  in  my  present  or  past  conduct  that 
you  would  consider  a  serious  objection." 

'Then  I  give  you  my  free  and  full  consent. 
Go  and  find  out  Dorothy's  feelings  on  the 
subject.  And  you  may  remember  that,  before 
all  those  stories  reached  my  ears,  it  was  my 
dearest  wish  that  you  and  she  should  make  a 
match.  I  even  went  so  far  as  to  speak  my  mind 
on  the  subject." 

"And  afterward,"  laughed  the  young  man, 
"to  take  it  all  back  again,  and  tell  me 
that  you  did  not  want  me  even  to  speak  to 
Dorothy." 

"You  did  not  seem  so  very  anxious,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Rollins,  slyly.  "I  suppose,  like 
most  rich  young  men,  you  realized  your  own 
importance,  and  thought  you  could  bide  your 
time." 

"I  had  to  bide  it,"  replied  Sebastian,  "until 
I  could  get  a  tangle  of  business  affairs  straight 
ened  out." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Rollins,  even  though  her 
smile  was  a  trifle  incredulous,  ' '  I  wish  you 
success  now  with  all  my  heart." 

"A  thousand  thanks!"  cried  the  young  man. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  359 

"And  you  won't  mind  if  I  leave  you?  I  am  all 
impatience  to  reach  your  house." 

' '  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  you  will  find 
Dorothy  at  home,"  said  the  lady.  "She  went 
for  a  walk  with  your  sister  Margie.  But  she 
promised  to  be  in  about  five." 

' '  If  she  has  not  come  in,  may  I  wait  ? ' '  asked 
Sebastian. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  replied  Mrs.  Rollins.  "  Don't 
leave  there  on  any  account  till  you  have  seen 
her." 

Mrs.  Rollins  thought,  as  she  watched  her 
late  companion  flying  down  the  street,  that 
he  was  quite  beside  himself,  and  that  it  was 
absurd  to  be  in  such  haste  now,  when  he  had 
let  so  much  time  elapse  before. 


360  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 


XXV. 

SEBASTIAN  arrived  at  Mrs.  Rollins'  house,  only 
to  be  told  that  Miss  Kent  was  out,  but  that 
she  had  left  word  she  would  be  back  not  later 
than  five.  Sebastian  looked  at  his  watch:  it 
wanted  only  a  few  moments  of  that  time.  He 
announced  his  intention  of  waiting,  and  was 
shown  into  the  drawing-room, — there  where  he 
had  first  met  Dorothy,  where  he  had  held  that 
memorable  conversation  with  her,  and  had 
read  Elmira's  letter.  He  walked  about,  as  he 
had  done  on  a  previous  occasion,  examining 
with  a  lacklustre  eye  the  pictures  and  the 
statuary,  and  keeping  his  ear  open  for  any 
sounds  that  might  betoken  the  return  of 
Dorothy  Kent.  The  time,  of  course,  seemed 
long ;  but  when  Dorothy  at  last  arrived,  hearing 
that  some  one  was  waiting  for  her,  she  came  all 
radiant  into  the  room.  Her  walking  costume 
of  dark  blue,  that  fitted  her  so  perfectly,  the 
small  toque  resting  on  the  shining  hair,  seemed 
but  the  setting  to  that  priceless  pearl  which, 
as  Sebastian  thought,  with  fast-beating  heart, 
he  had  come  hither  to  claim.  In  Dorothy's 
cheeks  was  a  spot  of  scarlet  color,  from  the 
touch  of  the  November  air;  her  eyes  were 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  361 

sparkling,  yet  softened  by  some  happy  emotion. 

Sebastian,  carried  away  completely  by  the 
rush  of  his  joyful  emotions,  advanced  from  the 
shadow  where  he  was  waiting,  and,  just  as  the 
girl  realized  who  the  visitor  was,  took  her  into 
his  arms.  He  had  not  calculated  what  the 
effect  of  this  proceeding,  without  any  previous 
explanation,  would  naturally  be  upon  Dorothy. 
He  held  her  but  for  an  instant,  and  then  his 
arms  dropped  to  his  sides  in  consternation,  as 
he  realized  what  he  had  done.  Nor  did  the 
color  deepening  upon  Dorothy's  cheeks,  the 
flame  that  flashed  into  her  eyes,  or  the  anger 
that  fairly  shook  her  small  frame,  conduce  to 
restoring  his  equanimity. 

'You  must  be  mad,"  she  said  breathlessly, 
"quite  out  of  your  senses,  or  you  never  would 
have  dared— 

To  Dorothy,  familiarities  of  any  kind  had 
always  been  abhorrent:  and  her  Southern 
blood  blazed  into  wrath  at  the  idea  that  Sebas 
tian,  of  all  others,  had  ventured  to  forget 
himself. 

Without  a  word,  Sebastian  knelt  down  before 
her  and  raised  the  hem  of  her  dainty  garment 
to  his  lips. 

' '  That  is  the  attitude  of  my  thoughts  toward 
you,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, — "always,  always, 
upon  my  knees  before  you." 

With  a  slight  abatement  of  her  resentment, 
Dorothy  moved  away  from  him,  and  stood 
with  her  arm  leaning  upon  the  mantlepiece. 


362  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

'You  had  better  get  up  now,"  she  said 
coldly,  though  she  had  been  touched  to  the 
depths  of  her  heart  by  that  act  of  homage. 
"Some  one  might  come  to  the  door." 

'Yes,"  said  Sebastian,  rising  at  once  at  her 
bidding.  "Besides,  this  is  not  a  very  good 
attitude  for  conversation,  and  I  have  so  much 
to  say." 

Dorothy  was  still  looking  coldly  at  him; 
though  it  must  be  owned  that  his  voice,  with 
its  new  accent,  thrilled  her.  The  flame  of  her 
anger  had  already  died  down,  and  she  was 
finding  excuses,  or  prepared  at  least  to  hear 
them,  for  his  unusual  behavior. 

"For  that  act  of  mine  which  has  offended 
you,"  said  Sebastian,  "I  apologize  with  all 
my  heart.  But  I  think  you  will  be  willing  to 
forgive  me  when  you  realize  that  it  was  pure 
joy,  after  the  long  repression,  to  find  my 
self  here  with  you,  and  in  a  position  to  say  all 
that  has  been  burning  into  my  heart." 

Dorothy  was  listening,  with  an  expression 
which  to  Sebastian  was  enchanting;  though  her 
eyes  were  lowered  and  her  countenance  still 
grave. 

"They  say  a  woman  always  knows  when 
a  man  loves  her,"  he  went  on;  "and  I  suppose 
that  is  the  case.  But,  at  any  rate,  there  is 
no  use  in  protestations.  Words  would  only 
spoil  all  that  I  am  thinking- 
He  paused,  hoping  perhaps  for  a  word  of 
encouragement;  but  none  came. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  363 

Dorothy,  as  if  signifying  that  she  was  willing 
to  hear  whatever  he  might  have  to  say,  sat 
down  in  the  selfsame  armchair  which  added 
so  pretty  a  touch  of  dignity  to  her  figure. 

"I  think  you  must  be  able  to  guess,  to  see 
for  yourself,"  continued  Sebastian.  "Almost 
ever  since  we  met,  this  love  for  you  has  been 
taking  possession  of  me.  It  was  hard  to  think 
of  anything  else,  and  hardest  of  all  to  be  near 
you  and  unable  to  give  it  expression." 

It  seemed  to  him  that  his  words  were  lame 
and  insufficient,  and  that  there  was  no  power 
in  language  to  make  that  peerless  figure  in 
the  chair  feel  and  understand. 

"I  have  none  of  the  graces  that  charm 
women,"  he  said;  "so  it  used  to  seem  to  me, 
until  lately,  that  I  should  have  to  be  content 
if  I  could  persuade  you  to  do,  what  Margie 
tells  me  is  common  enough  amongst  her  sex,— 
marry  me  for  what  external  advantages  I  could 
offer." 

"Margie  ought  to  know  me  better  than 
that,"  answered  Dorothy,  severely;  "and  to 
be  quite  sure  that  I  should  never  do  anything 
of  the  kind." 

"Nor  would  I  now  wish  you  to  make  the 
attempt,"  said  Sebastian.  "That  stage  is 
past." 

Dorothy,  reflecting  upon  these  words,  allowed 
her  serious  eyes  to  study  for  an  instant  the 
young  man's  face.  It  was  pale,  but  in  the 
eyes  was  that  look  which  had  made  him  conquer 


24 


364  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

in  great  enterprises  and  overcome  many  diffi 
culties.  That  appealed  to  Dorothy.  She  loved 
power;  she  loved  the  inflexible  will  that  had 
kept  this  man  silent  in  those  family  affairs, 
where  it  would  have  been  so  much  easier  to 
speak,  and  which  had  repressed  those  avowals 
on  his  lips  with  regard  to  herself  which  his 
eloquent  eyes  had  spoken.  She  loved  that  slim, 
boyish  figure,  and  the  face  that  had  become 
supremely  interesting  to  her  above  all  those 
she  had  ever  seen.  She  loved,  in  fact,  the 
whole  personality  of  the  man;  and  she  was 
aware  that  she  had  done  wisely  and  well  in 
loving  one  who  possessed  the  soul  of  a  knight 
errant,  the  brain  of  a  modern  financier,  and  a 
heart  of  pure  gold.  But  she  wanted  to  wait 
a  little  to  hear  him  protest  further,  and  to 
explain  what  had  been  the  meaning  of  his 
first  impulsive  action. 

"I  was  going  to  say,"  she  remarked,  "that 
I  could  not  think  of  marrying  you  at  all- 
Something  like  a  groan  of   dismay  escaped 
from  Sebastian  as  he  cried: 

'You  could  not  think  of  marrying  me!  O 
Dorothy,  is  there  no  appeal  from  that  cruel 
sentence?"  His  eyes  were  pleading,  his  hands 
outstretched  as  one  who  supplicates.  "I  am 
a  beggar,"  he  said,  "asking  alms." 

"I  had  not  quite  finished  my  sentence," 
rejoined  Dorothy,  and  she  marvelled  at  her 
own  composure.  "I  was  going  to  say  that  I 
could  not  think  of  marrying  you,  no  matter 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  365 

what  the  temptation,  unless  I  cared  for  you 
more  than  for  any  one  in  the  world." 

There  was  a  world  of  love  and  hope  in 
Sebastian's  voice  as  he  saw  light  breaking 
through  the  darkness. 

"Dorothy,"  he  pleaded,  "is  there  the  smallest 
chance  that  that  can  ever  be?" 

'You  forget,"  she  said  calmly,  "that  you 
are  still  in  disgrace  and  unforgiven." 

"But  you  will  have  to  forgive  when  you 
know  all." 

"Full  knowledge,"  replied  Dorothy,  with  a 
little  laugh,  "makes  all  things,  they  say, 
forgivable." 

Sebastian  approached  and  stood  near  the 
mantlepiece,  which  the  girl  had  abandoned. 

"The  other  night,"  he  said,  "when  you  saw 
and  recognized  my  father's  portrait,  I  knew, 
of  course,  that  you  had  guessed  everything. 
I  can  not  tell  what  your  thoughts  may  have 
been." 

"Sympathy!"  she  exclaimed,  promptly. 
"That  was  my  chief  thought, — sympathy  with 
you  and  everyone." 

"I  may  claim  the  whole  of  that  sweet  gift," 
said  Sebastian,  "since  no  one  else  knew  any 
thing.  At  the  time  of  my  father's  death,  I 
became  his  sole  confidant.  On  me  fell  the 
fear,  suspense,  anxiety.  But  I  am  not  going 
to  dwell  upon  that  now.  Thank  God,  it  is 
over!  But  you  have  guessed  enough  to  see 
what  seemed  to  make  my  marriage  impossible." 


366  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Dorothy  still  listened,  with  greater  attention 
than  ever;  but  the  artificial  calm  which  she 
had  maintained  was  softened,  and  the  tears 
were  welling  up  into  her  eyes. 

"I  suffered  a  great  deal,"  continued  Sebas 
tian;  "and  I  had  persuaded  myself  that,  in 
order  to  keep  the  secret  inviolate  as  I  had 
promised  my  dead  father,  I  should  keep  away 
even  from  the  priest." 

He  paused,  while  Dorothy  nodded  compre- 
hendingly. 

"You  may  remember,"  he  said,  "a  con 
versation  I  had  with  you  here  one  day.  It 
followed  upon  a  word  of  advice  spoken  to  me 
by  Rosanna,  our  faithful  old  servant;  and 
Margie  also  told  me  of  the  league  of  prayer 
that  you  had  joined  in  with  the  rest,  for  my 
conversion.  The  scales  seemed  all  at  once  to 
fall  from  my  eyes.  I  realized  that  I  could  risk 
nothing  by  going  to  see  the  old  priest  who  had 
heard  my  father's  confession  shortly  before  his 
death.  I  went  there  to-day;  and,  Dorothy, 
besides  having  made  my  peace  with  God,  which 
has  made  me  feel  as  happy  as  a  child,  I  must 
tell  you  that  the  last  obstacle — unless,  of  course, 
that  of  your  will — between  you  and  me  has 
been  removed.  The  first  Elmira,  who  was 
my  father's  wife,  is,  as  you  know,  dead;  the 
second,  her  daughter,  is  found,  and  shall  be 
handsomely  provided  for." 

In  her  new  interest  and  emotion,  Dorothy 
was  bending  toward  him,  wiping  away  the  tears 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  367 

that     obscured     her     eyes;      while     Sebastian 
resumed : 

"After  I  had  received  absolution,  the  priest— 
who,  I  should  premise,  had  been  acquainted 
by  my  late  father  with  the  whole  affair- 
invited  me  to  sit  down  and  talk  matters  over. 
At  a  certain  point  in  our  conversation  he  felt 
impelled  to  look  at  notes  which  he  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  taking,  and  there  he  found  what 
materially  affected  our  whole  lives." 

Sebastian  paused  for  a  glance  at  his  now 
wholly  sympathetic  listener,  and  then  hurried 
on: 

"Singular  as  it  may  appear,  that  very  priest 
had  been  giving  a  mission  in  a  Southwestern 
city,  and  was  called  to  see  a  dying  woman,  a 
non- Catholic.  Why  she  had  sent  for  him,  and 
what  she  wanted  to  explain,  may  be  guessed. 
But  the  call,  though  immediately  answered, 
had  come  too  late.  The  patient,  whose  disease 
was  pneumonia,  had  become  unconscious,  and 
died  two  hours  afterward.  Her  name  was 
Sarah  Elmira  Johnson." 

Dorothy  gave  a  cry. 

"The  mother  of  my  Elmira!" 

"Yes,  of  our  Elmira,"  corrected  Sebastian, 
with  a  smile. 

"But  why — but  how  does  this  affect  you— 
I  mean  in  any  new  way?"  demanded  Dorothy. 

"Because,  my  darling  girl,"  cried  Sebastian, 
almost  unconsciously  using  the  endearing  epi 
thet,  "that  entry  in  the  priest's  notebook 


368  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

proves  that  Elmira  the  first  died  just  six  months 
before  my  father's  second  marriage." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad, — so  glad!"  said  Dorothy, 
with  all  the  impulsiveness  of  her  Southern 
nature;  coming  to  the  front  and  dispelling  the 
last  mist  of  coldness  from  her  manner,  while 
the  tears  began  to  chase  each  other  down  her 
cheeks. 

"And  when  I  left  the  priest,"  continued 
Sebastian,  "I  almost  ran  here.  I  met  Mrs. 
Rollins  on  the  way,  and  forced  her  to  give  me 
permission  to  see  you  and  to  ask  you  to  become 
my  wife.  It  was  a  sort  of  'hold  up,'  but  she 
consented  to  leave  the  matter  to  yourself. 
And  so  I  can  not  help  thinking  there  is  some 
excuse  for  behaving  as  I  did." 

"Why,  to  be  sure!"  replied  Dorothy.  "I 
think  anybody  would  have  done  the  same  under 
the  circumstances." 

"Everything  having  turned  out  so  wonder 
fully  well,"  said  the  young  man,  "I  could  not 
help  persuading  myself  that  I  should  have  the 
same  luck  here,  and  that  you  would  crown  my 
happiness  by  consenting  to  marry  me." 

"O  Sebastian,"  cried  Dorothy,  "indeed  I 
shall  be  glad  and  proud  to  marry  you!  I  think 
you  have  behaved  all  through  like  a  hero, — a 
second  St.  Sebastian." 

"But,"  said  the  young  man,  "Dorothy 
dearest,  you  would  not  marry  a  man  only 
because  he  seemed  to  you  like  a  hero." 

"No — though  that  would  be  a  great  induce- 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  369 

ment, — but  only  because  I  cared  more  for  him 
than  for  any  one  else  in  the  world." 

That  drawing-room  of  Mrs.  Rollins,  which, 
with  its  treasures  of  art  and  its  evidences  o,f 
taste  and  culture,  had  hitherto  seemed  \© 
Sebastian  as  the  home  of  all  the  conventions 
alities  and  all  the  commonplaces,  became 
suddenly  transformed  into  a  paradise  of  delight 
and  a  spot  to  be  affectionately  remembered 
for  evermore.  But  amongst  all  the  things  I  of 
which  these  lovers  talked,  there  was  one  item 
which  may  be  here  recorded,  since  it  has  a 
bearing  on  this  narrative. 

"Isn't  it  strange  to  think,"  said  Sebastian, 
"that  your  Elmira  turns  out  to  be  my  half- 
sister  ? ' ' 

"My  poor  Elmira!"  exclaimed  Dorothy.  "I 
wonder  what  she  will  think  of  all  the  good  news 
I  shall  have  to  write  her?" 

' '  Letters  are  such  very  unsatisfactory  things ! ' ' 
said  Sebastian.  "I  really  think,  dearest,  that 
we  ought  to  bring  the  good  news  there  in  person. 
I  should  like  to  pay  her  a  visit.  I  have  great 
curiosity  to  see  her.  Of  course,  I  can  not  tell 
her  of  our  relationship.  But,  if  you  will  come 
with  me,  my  interest  will  seem  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world,  since  I  can  introduce  myself 
by  the  proudest  title  any  man  could  bear — that 
of  your  husband." 

"That  seems  premature  to  discuss  just  yet," 
replied  Dorothy.  "I  have  scarcely  had  time  to 
realize  all  that  I  have  promised.  But,  in  any 


370  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

case,  I  shall  have  to  go  home  first  of  all,  and 
tell  my  dear  mother  and  the  others  the  astound 
ing  news." 

"Ah,  no! — ah,  no!"  said  Sebastian.  "I  will 
write  to  your  mother  this  very  day,  and  you 
can  send  a  letter  at  the  same  time.  We  shall 
beg  her  to  come  here,  and  to  bring  all  the 
family,  if  possible,  for  the  wedding.  My  mother 
will  be  delighted  to  receive  them.  Or,  if  this 
is  impossible,  we  can  go  to  see  them  on  our 
way  to — Elmira." 

"Oh,  I  can  not  decide  yet!"  said  Dorothy. 
"It  seems  so  like  a  dream." 

"Make  it  a  blessed  reality,"  cried  Sebastian, 
"and  do  not  keep  Elmira  and  me  too  long  from 
our  happiness!" 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  371 


XXVI. 

Now,  Louis,  after  that  last  conversation  with 
Rosanna,  thought  it  expedient  to  say  a  season 
able  word  to  Sebastian  about  the  subject 
which  had  been  under  consideration.  He  felt 
that  it  was  due  to  his  brother  to  be  informed 
of  what  was  being  said,  with  the  further  light 
that  the  old  nurse  had  been  able  to  throw 
upon  the  matter;  so  that  Sebastian  might  be 
able,  perhaps,  to  offer  some  explanation  and 
to  take  some  steps  that  should  lay  forever 
the  unquiet  ghost  of  Elmira. 

He  went  down  to  the  warehouse,  where 
business  that  day  seemed  more  active  than 
ever;  and,  standing  silently  on  the  sidewalk 
outside,  watched  the  huge  bales  being  pro 
pelled,  by  stalwart  men,  out  of  the  doors  and 
onto  the  drays,  which  patient,  thick-legged 
horses  were  waiting  to  transport;  while  other 
drays  and  vans  were  being  unloaded  skilfully 
and  with  dispatch,  their  contents  being  drawn 
through  the  portals  of  the  warehouse  as  into 
a  vortex. 

Louis  let  his  eyes  wander  over  the  gray  walls, 
relieved  from  monotony  by  the  blue  shades,— 
walls  that  had  undergone  no  change  what- 


372  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

ever  since  that  day  when  their  late  tenant  had 
gone  forth  from  them  to  return  no  more.  Louis 
went  in,  and  passed  in  a  leisurely  way  from  one 
story  to  another  of  the  building,  observing  its 
various  details  with  a  new  curiosity,  as  if  he 
had  never  seen  it  all  before.  He  caught  glimpses 
of  his  brother,  and  heard  his  voice  at  divers 
points,  directing  and  instructing.  That  slender 
figure  and  the  dark-complexioned  face  seemed 
to  be  everywhere  at  once, — that  voice  to  give 
its  orders,  calmly  and  without  excitement; 
that  mind  to  think  and  to  govern. 

Louis  sat  down  in  his  brother's  office  to  wait 
for  him.  It  was  only  a  few  moments  until 
Sebastian  entered,  and  the  Doctor's  quick  eye 
noted  at  once  the  change  for  the  better  in  his 
appearance. 

"Why,  what  have  you  been  doing?"  he  said. 
"You  haven't  gone  away.  Does  it  mean  tonics 
or  slacking  of  work?" 

"It  means  a  good  deal  more  than  that," 
replied  Sebastian,  with  a  laugh  such  as  Louis 
had  not  heard  from  him  in  many  a  day.  "There 
is  no  reason  why  I  should  not  tell  you  that, 
for  one  thing,  I  am  going  to  be  married." 

"Married!"  And  through  Louis'  alert  mind 
flashed  the  thought  that  only  the  other  day 
he  had  heard  a  statement  from  Sebastian  that 
marriage  would  be  for  himself,  as  well  as  for 
Margie,  impossible.  But  he  did  not  comment 
on  the  inconsistency.  "Well,  that  is  good 
news,"  he  rejoined,  "though  a  bit  sudden. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  373 

And  I  need  scarcely  ask  who  is  the  bride  elect." 

"There  could  be  but  one,  of  course,"  observed 
Sebastian,  with  his  wholesome-sounding  laugh. 

"She  is  very  charming,"  observed  Louis. 
' '  I  congratulate  you. ' ' 

"I  am  felicitating  myself  every  time  I 
think  of  it,"  declared  Sebastian.  "I  can  hardly 
believe  in  my  good  fortune  yet." 

There  was  a  pause;  for  that  subject  seemed 
closed  by  the  few  words  that  had  been  spoken. 

"I  came  down  here  to-day,"  said  Louis, 
"not  like  Alfred,  to  proffer  my  valuable  assist 
ance,  nor  yet  to  see  how  things  are  going  on. 
But  the  place  seems  a  very  synonym  for 
prosperity." 

"Things  are  going  well,  I  think,"  replied 
Sebastian.  "As  for  Alfred,  he  has  been  simply 
pestiferous  of  late.  He  has  got  hold  of  some 
new  idea  about  me,  and  seems  to  think  that  I 
am  appropriating  to  myself  more  than  my 
share  of  the  estate." 

"Why  don't  you  tell  him  to  go  to— 
Halifax?" 

"It  would  be  no  use:  he  wouldn't  go;  or 
if  he  did,  he'd  come  back." 

"Well,"  continued  Louis,  "as  I  was  about 
to  say,  I  came  down  here  to-day,  because  I 
wanted  a  quiet  place  to  talk  to  you.  There 
seems,  however,  to  be  a  good  deal  of  noise 
both  in  the  street  and  in  the  building." 

"It's  a  rush  day,"  rejoined  Sebastian;  "and, 
besides,  we  should  be  subject  to  interruption. 


374  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

I  am  rarely  left  in  peace  for  more  than  a  few 
minutes  at   a  time." 

"So  perhaps,  after  all,"  remarked  Louis, 
"I  had  better  say  my  say  up  at  the  house?" 

' '  I  think  it  would  be  better, ' '  agreed  Sebas 
tian.    "What  time  will  suit  you?" 
'This  evening,  if  convenient." 

Sebastian  nodded. 

"I  shall  be  at  home,"  he  said.  "And,  if  you 
can  wait  a  bit,  we  can  walk  up  town  together." 

"Can't  do  that,"  replied  Louis.  "I  have  to 
see  a  patient  in  twenty  minutes." 

"Come  to  dinner,  then.  Mother  will  be 
delighted.  She  complains  that  she  seldom  sees 
you.  Neither  Alfred  nor  his  wife  will  be  there. 
I  believe  there  is  a  dinner  of  the  Bar,  or  some 
thing,  to-night,  and  Mrs.  Alfred  is  going  to 
hear  the  speeches." 

'Their  absence  will  be  a  great  inducement," 
said  Louis,  almost  viciously. 

"It  will  be  at  least  a  change,"  observed 
Sebastian.  "They  dine  with  us  or  drop  in 
almost  every  evening,  on  the  plea  that  mother 
would  be  lonely." 

"Well,  I'll  telephone  Rosanna  that  she 
needn't  prepare  dinner  for  me;  and  I'll  look 
in  on  a  couple  of  patients,  get  a  bath,  and 
be  with  you  about  seven.  But  I  probably 
won't  appear  till  the  last  moment." 

"All  right!"  said  Sebastian.  "We  can  have 
a  smoke  and  a  talk  afterward." 

If   Sebastian,    left   alone,   wondered   what   it 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  375 

was  that  his  brother  had  to  say  to  him,  he  was 
not  allowed  much  time  for  conjecture.  Every 
moment  his  attention  seemed  to  be  demanded. 
Wilmot  &  Son  had  concentrated  more  than 
ever  upon  him,  and  especially  on  particularly 
busy  days.  At  last,  with  some  relief,  he  saw 
arriving  the  moment  of  departure.  He  had 
given  his  final  instructions;  the  various  opera 
tions  of  the  day  had  been  concluded;  and  the 
huge  place,  foregoing  all  its  activities,  prepared 
to  resign  itself  to  the  darkness,  like  some  busy, 
useful  life,  suddenly  immersed  in  the  shadows. 
When  Sebastian  was  coming  downstairs  after 
he  had  made  his  toilet  for  dinner,  he  encountered 
Margie  going  up.  She  had  just  come  in  and 
was  hastening  to  her  room. 

"I'm  afraid  I  shall  be  late,"  she  said.  "I 
have  been  at  a  crush  tea." 

"Margie,"  replied  Sebastian,  pausing  with 
his  hand  on  the  baluster,  "it  is  not  a  very 
formal  way  of  announcing  things,  but  I  wanted 
to  tell  you  to  be  sure  to  have  Dr.  Dever  up  to 
dinner  some  evening  soon.  I  am  anxious  to 
meet  him." 

Margie  gazed  in  astonishment  at  her  brother, 
reflecting  that  such  a  meeting  would  be  ex 
ceedingly  awkward. 

"For  I  may  as  well  blurt  out  the  good  news 
now  as  at  any  other  time.     You  may  marry 
your   admirable   Doctor  whenever   you   will,— 
at  least  in  so  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"Sebastian,  do  you  mean  it?"  cried  Margie; 


376  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

and  in  another  instant  she  had  thrown  both 
arms   around  his  neck. 

'That's   a   suffocating   sort   of   bear's   hug," 
said  Sebastian;     "and   I   fear  for  my  collar." 

Margie,  knitting  her  brows  reflectively,  was 
studying  his  face. 

"But  how  has  this  come  about?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  not  free  to  tell  you  anything  more 
than  that  I  have  been  trying  to  arrange  things 
to  get  further  information  on  certain  affairs, 
and,  in  short,  to  make  smooth  the  rosy  path 
of  Hymen  for  Miss  Margie." 

"I  won't  ask  a  single  question,"  said  Margie, 
determinedly. 

"No,"  said  Sebastian,  "that  will  be  the  best 
way.  And  I  want  you  to  believe,  little  sister, 
that  if  I  opposed  your  marriage  before,  I  had 
good  and  substantial  reason  for  doing  so;  and 
that  it  was  no  caprice  or  arbitrary  exercise 
of  authority  on  my  part." 

"I  knew  that  all  along,"  said  Margie,— 
"except  for  that  one  evil  moment,  when  I 
was  as  bad  as  Mrs.  Alfred." 

' '  This  is  a  queer  place  for  a  family  conference 
on  affairs  of  state,"  laughed  Sebastian,  looking 
around  the  wide  hall,  up  at  its  spacious  ceiling, 
and  down  again  at  the  thick  piles  of  carpet 
on  the  staircases.  "But,  since  we  have  made 
it  into  a  council  chamber,  I  may  as  well  tell 
you  another  great  piece  of  news.  It  is  all  right 
about  my  own  marriage,  too.  The  same  reason 
that  blocked  yours  was  blocking  mine.  And 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  377 

Dorothy  has  promised  to  make  me  the  happiest 
fellow  on  earth." 

"Why,  you  dear  old  magician  of  a  brother!" 
cried  Margie,  threatening  him  with  another 
hug.  ' '  I  am  as  delighted  to  hear  that  as  about 
my  own  affair.  Dorothy  is  really  the  only  person 
I  could  allow  you  to  marry.  You  are  just 
going  about  this  evening  scattering  happiness 
everywhere." 

"I  am  on  my  way  downstairs  now  to  deal 
out  a  little  more,"  declared  Sebastian,  his 
boyish  laugh  ringing  through  the  corridor. 
' '  I  am  going  to  tell  mother  that  this  house 
may  be  sold  whenever  she  likes." 

"Why,  she  will  be  delighted!"  said  Margie. 
"And  I  used  to  imagine  that  I  would  be,  too; 
but  now  it  seems  sad  to  think  of  the  dear  old 
house  broken  up." 

Sebastian  laughed. 

"There's  nothing  in  the  world  sad  about  it," 
he  responded.  "Everything  is  rose-colored." 

Margie  wondered,  and  was  conscious  of  a 
slight  feeling  of  disappointment;  for  she  had 
always  supposed  her  youngest  brother  to  be 
devotedly  attached  to  this  family  mansion, 
looking  out  upon  that  square  which  he  had 
professed  to  love.  She  could  not  help  an 
involuntary  sigh,  believing  that  his  new  happi 
ness  had  left  no  room  in  his  heart  for  anything 
else.  She  pursued  her  way  upstairs,  remarking 
that  she  would  hurry  down  again,  to  be  in 
time  for  dinner;  and  Sebastian  went  to  the 


378  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

drawing-room,   for  a  few  moments'   talk  with 
his  mother. 

He  found  her  sitting  there  alone,  thinking 
over  all  that  had  come  and  gone,  and  "es 
pecially  your  poor  father." 

'Yes,"   said  Sebastian,    "he   seems   to   keep 
his  place  in  the  old  house;    doesn't  he?" 

"Every  part  of  it  is  full  of  sad  associations," 
replied  the  mother;  and  in  her  tone  there  was 
a  slight  hint  of  resentment  against  this  son 
who  had  refused  to  take  that  fact  into 
consideration. 

Sebastian  smiled  in  anticipation  of  the  pleasant 
surprise  he  was  about  to  give  her.  He  went 
and  stood  near  her,  with  the  look  on  his  face 
of  affectionate  interest  it  used  to  wear  in  the 
old  days,  before  business  and  its  preoccupations, 
and  those  other  graver  complexities,  had  cast 
their  shadow  over  him.  Mrs.  Wilmot,  glancing 
up  at  her  tall  son,  was  struck  with  that  look 
of  youth  and  happiness  that  had  suddenly 
been  restored  to  his  face. 

"Mother,"  said  Sebastian,  "I  am  sure  you 
have  been  thinking  very  hard  things  of  me  for 
some  time  past,  and  apparently  with  reason. 
I  have  had  such  difficult  matters  to  deal  with! 
But,  happily,  they  are  all  settled  now.  The 
way  of  the  executor  is  hard.  In  future,  I  feel 
certain  that  your  will  in  all  important  matters 
will  be  mine." 

"That  sounds  more  like  my  own  Sebastian," 
said  the  mother,  smiling  at  him. 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  379 

"In  the  first  place,"  the  young  man  went 
on,  "I  want  to  tell  you  that  this  house  can  now 
be  sold  whenever  you  like." 

Mrs.  Wilmot  could  scarcely  believe  her  ears. 

"But  I  thought  you  said  it  was  impossible?" 
she  remarked. 

"So  it  was  at  the  time,"  said  Sebastian; 
"but  now  I  have  been  able  to  arrange  every 
thing.  Things  have  straightened  themselves 
out  wonderfully,  and  nothing  pleases  me  better 
than  to  be  in  a  position  at  last  to  meet  your 
wishes." 

' '  I  knew  you  would  not  hold  out  long  against 
me,  you  dear,  good  boy!" 

"I  should  not  have  held  out  at  all,  if  the 
matter  had  rested  with  me,"  said  Sebastian, 
gravely.  Mrs.  Wilmot  looked  about  her,  and  for 
the  first  time  felt  a  pang  of  regret ;  for  this  house 
had  been  so  long  identified  with  her  life,  and 
her  husband  had  been  so  proud  of  it!  She  had 
come  there  as  a  young  wife,  and  had  thought 
it,  at  first,  very  grand  and  imposing. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "I  shall  be  half 
sorry  to  leave  the  old  place,  after  all,  and  to 
think,  perhaps,  of  its  being  demolished?" 

Sebastian  smiled  at  this  bit  of  feminine  in 
consistency,  which  was  not,  however,  dis 
pleasing  to  him. 

"I  don't  think  it  will  be  demolished, — not 
for  a  long  time,  anyway,"  he  said. 

His  mother  looked  up  at  him  inquiringly. 

"And    I'll    tell    you    why,"    said    Sebastian, 


25 


380  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

sitting  down  on  a  low  stool  beside  her,  and 
taking  her  hand.  "Because  I  am  going  to  buy 
it  and  live  in  it  myself.  And  that  brings  me 
to  another  item  of  news.  It  is  something  on 
which  I  want  to  ask  your  blessing  and  consent." 

"My  blessing  and  consent!"  murmured  the 
mother,  with  a  sinking  heart.  For  she  knew 
that  those  words  could  have  only  one  meaning. 
That  news  which  was  trembling  upon  his  lips 
would  signify  that  she  was  to  lose  this  dear  son, 
whom,  in  spite  of  their  late  estrangement,  she 
loved  best  of  all. 

"It  seems  strange,  mother  dearest,"  said 
the  young  man,  in  the  old,  caressing  tone  of 
his  boyhood,  "that  I,  who  so  lately  was  your 
little  boy,  running  your  messages  and  hanging 
on  to  your  skirts,  should  be  taking  a  wife.  But 
that  is  the  case.  It  is  the  law  of  life, — all 
change  and  vicissitude.  You  know  the  girl  I 
have  chosen:  you  'have  seen  her — Dorothy 
Kent.  She  is  worthy  of  all  the  love  I  can 
give  her.  She  is  Margie's  friend;  she  will  be 
your  daughter." 

But  the  mother  only  put  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes  and  began  to  cry  softly,  though  she 
pressed  Sebastian's  hand. 

"I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy,"  the  poor 
lady  said  at  last.  "But,  oh,  it  breaks  my  heart, 
and  I  shall  be  so  very  lonely!" 

"If,  my  own  dear  mother,"  said  Sebastian, 
who  was  profoundly  moved  by  her  emotion, 
"it  should  please  you  better,  after  all,  to 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  381 

stay  here  with  us,  the  house  shall  be  yours, 
even  though  I  should  be  its  nominal  owner." 

But  Mrs.  Wilmot  seemed  to  think  that  it 
would  be  better  she  should  have  the  new  house 
to  which  she  had  been  so  long  looking  forward. 
And  Sebastian  threw  out  the  suggestion  that 
perhaps  Margie,  whose  marriage  would  probably 
take  place  before  long,  might  like  for  the  first 
few  years  to  share,  in  company  with  her  Doctor, 
the  mother's  new  abode. 

' '  But  I  thought  that  Margie  was  not  to  be 
married  for  a  year,  at  least! "  cried  Mrs.  Wilmot, 
in  bewilderment.  "I  wonder  she  has  not  told 
me." 

"She  herself  has  heard,"  said  Sebastian, 
"only  a  few  minutes  ago,  upon  the  stairs. 
Everything  is  coming  out  all  right  at  last," 
he  added. 

"Only  that  I  am  to  lose  my  children!"  said 
the  mother. 

But  she  was  very  soon  engrossed  with  the 
prospect  of  choosing  and  moving  into  a  new 
house,  with  all  that  such  a  change  entailed. 
And  she  took  up  very  warmly  the  idea  that 
Margie  should  live  with  her  after  her  marriage; 
while  she  could  make  visits,  in  turn,  to  each 
of  her  children.  And  that  was,  in  fact,  the 
arrangement  that  was  made. 


382  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 


XXVII. 

Louis  arrived  punctual  to  the  hour,  and 
during  the  progress  of  dinner  was  told  all  the 
good  news  of  the  day.  Nothing  seemed  to 
please  him  more  than  the  decision  concerning 
Margie  and  his  friend,  Dr.  Dever,  for  whom  he 
had  a  sincere  affection.  He  laughingly  declared, 
too,  that,  regarding  his  brother's  approaching 
marriage,  he  had  no  objection  in  the  world  to 
so  pretty  a  sister-in-law. 

It  was  then  suggested  that  his  own  marriage 
should  follow  in  due  course.  He  put  on  a  senti 
mental  expression,  so  that,  for  the  moment, 
every  member  of  the  company  was  deceived 
when  he  declared  with  solemnity: 

"Apart  from  my  mother,  there  is  only  one 
woman  in  the  world  for  me,  and  cruel  Time 
has  set  up  an  obstacle!" 

As  they  looked  inquiringly  at  him,  he 
explained : 

"That  woman  is  Rosanna.  Any  other  would 
fatally  upset  my  digestion,  and  make  me  feel, 
moreover,  as  if  the  universe  had  turned  topsy 
turvy." 

"Rosanna  will  have   a  rival  some  of  these 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  383 

days,"  said  the  mother.  "But  I  do  hope  not 
too  soon.  I  should  like  to  think  that  one  of 
my  children  belongs  entirely  to  me." 

That  was  altogether  the  merriest  and  pleasant- 
est  dinner  that  had  taken  place  for  a  long  time 
in  the  old  house,  even  allowing  for  the  shade 
of  melancholy  that  arose  from  so  many  prospec 
tive  changes.  It  must  be  owned  that  the 
absence  of  Mrs.  Alfred  was  felt  by  most  of  the 
company  as  an  agreeable  change,  and  that 
the  pompous  platitudes  of  brother  Alfred 
could  also  be  spared. 

After  dinner  the  two  young  men  went  away 
together  to  smoke;  and  Sebastian,  contrary 
to  all  custom,  brought  his  brother  upstairs 
to  that  little  room  where,  on  the  night  pre 
ceding  his  death,  David  Wilmot  had  labored 
so  hard  upon  that  work  of  expiation  which 
then  engaged  him.  And  there,  where  Sebastian 
had  taken  up  the  burden,  it  seemed  meet  that 
the  last  traces  of  it  should  be  removed  from 
his  shoulders. 

When  they  were  seated  and  had  smoked  a 
few  moments  in  silence,  Louis  said:  Jjj 

"It  is  not  my  habit,  as  you  know,  to  pry 
into  any  one's  affairs;  but  I  have  been  a  bit 
anxious  of  late,  and  you  won't  object  if  I  relieve 
my  mind  by  a  few  questions?" 

"As  many  as  you  like,"  said  Sebastian, 
cheerfully.  He  had  little  fear  now  of  interro 
gations,  and  least  of  all  from  Louis,  whom  he 
could  trust  as  himself. 


384  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

"There  has  been,  as  you  know,  a  good  deal 
of  foolish  talk  going  round." 

"I  have  had  some  inkling  of  it,"  agreed 
Sebastian. 

"And  you  can  guess  who  is  chiefly  to  blame." 

"It  is  not  very  hard,"  laughed  Sebastian, 
between  puffs. 

"But  don't  you  think  now,"  suggested  Louis, 
"that  it  is  time  to  take  some  step  to  put  a 
stop  to  all  this  chatter?" 

"My  dear  fellow,"  objected  Sebastian,  "do 
you  think  it  is  worth  while?  Those  whose 
opinion  I  value  will  not  believe  idle  gossip 
about  me;  and  for  the  rest"  (he  flicked  the 
ashes  off  his  cigar),  "they  are  scarcely  worth 
considering." 

"That  would  be  my  own  standpoint,"  said 
Louis;  "only  that,  in  view  of  your  approach 
ing  marriage,  I  think  you  owe  it  to  Miss  Kent 
to  silence  slanderous  tongues." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right  there,"  replied  Sebas 
tian,  with  a  gleam  in  his  eye.  "For  her  the 
best  is  none  too  good;  and  even  the  bubble, 
reputation,  should  be  carefully  guarded." 

"And  then  there  are,  too,"  observed  Louis, 
"certain  circumstances  that  are  exceptional." 

"In  what  way?"   inquired  his  brother. 

Louis  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair  before  he 
answered.  There  are  some  things  that  it  is 
hard  to  put  into  speech.  Sebastian,  watching 
him,  reflected  that  it  was  in  that  very  chair 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  385 

his  father  had  been  sitting  upon  that  last 
memorable  night. 

"I  have  heard  lately,"  said  Louis,  "a  good 
deal  of  talk  about  some  one  who  is  called 
Elmira." 

Sebastian  sat  back  in  his  chair. 

'Yes,  Elmira,"  he  declared,  "is  the  crux  of 
the  whole  situation." 

"Now,"  said  Louis,  "I  am  not  asking  any 
questions  that  you  may  not  care  to  answer. 
But  it  may  be  well  for  you  to  know — unless 
indeed,  as  I  suspect,  you  know  already — that 
this  Elmira  appears  to  have  had  a  real 
existence." 

"She  certainly  had,"  Sebastian  replied  em 
phatically;  and  his  brother,  considerably  sur 
prised,  waited  while  the  former  relapsed  into 
silence.  That  silence,  not  devoid  of  emotion, 
continued  for  some  moments;  for  Sebastian, 
deep  in  thought,  was  reflecting  how  little  had 
all  his  precautions  availed  to 'keep  that  secrecy 
to  the  dead  as  absolutely  inviolable  as  he  had 
wished.  Of  course  he  knew  that  whatever 
had  reached  the  public  had  been  through  the 
indiscretion  of  a  gossiping  and  malicious  woman. 
But  how  much  she  had  made  public,  or  what 
had  reached  his  brother,  he  could  not  guess. 

Here  in  this  very  room  had  been  enacted 
the  first  scene  in  that  drama  which  now  seemed 
about  to  culminate  so  happily  for  all  con 
cerned.  He  almost  expected  to  see  his  father 
seated  again  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table, 


386  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

and  confronting  him,  though  not  in  bodily 
form,  as  he  had  done  upon  that  otner  night. 
One  thing  seemed  quite  certain,  and  therein 
he  agreed  with  his  brother:  the  talk  should, 
if  it  were  possible,  be  stopped,  not  only  for  the 
reason  already  given,  but  lest  mischief  to  the 
good  name  of  the  dead  should  ensue  and  the 
real  truth  be  made  public. 

"When  I  spoke  of  exceptional  circumstances," 
said  Louis,  ' '  I  meant  that  Mrs  Alfred  seems  to 
have  got  the  thing  distorted,  and  to  represent 
Elmira  as  belonging  to  the  present  instead  of 
to  a  bygone  generation." 

"I  don't  exactly  understand,"  rejoined  Sebas 
tian.  "And  I  would  like  to  ask,  if  you  don't 
object,  from  whom  you  received  the  informa 
tion  additional  to  that  circulated  by  Mrs. 
Alfred." 

"From  Rosanna,"  said  Louis, — a  reply  which 
to  Sebastian  seemed  sufficiently  startling.  His 
brother  briefly  but  clearly  put  before  him  that 
scene  which  the  old  nurse  had  so  graphically 
described  following  up  her  finding  of  the 
photographs. 

"But  surely,"  continued  Sebastian,  much 
perturbed,  "it  was  not  from  her  that  Mrs. 
Alfred  got  her  information." 

"That  would  be  the  most  unlikely  thing  in 
the  world,  knowing  Rosanna  as  we  do,"  said 
Louis.  "She  spoke  of  the  matter  at  all  only 
because  of  her  uneasiness  at  the  gossip  that 
Mrs.  Alfred  was  spreading.  Besides,"  Louis 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  387 

added,  after  a  slight  pause,  and  with  an  uncom 
fortable  laugh,  "we  have  another  proof  in  the 
extraordinary  fact  that  Elmira  has  been  foisted 
upon  you." 

"Upon  me!"  cried  Sebastian,  in  amazement. 
'That  is  something  I  certainly  had  not  heard; 
though  I  had  reason  to  know  that  some  kind 
of  stories  to  my  discredit  were  being  circu 
lated.  But  that  only  renders  everything  more 
complicated,  and  makes  it  imperative,  too, 
that  this  gossip  should  be  stopped." 

"But,"  said  Louis,  "since  we  are  upon  the 
subject,  and  if  it  is  a  fair  question,  who  is 
this  Elmira?" 

The  question  seemed  to  vibrate  through 
that  room;  for  in  the  answer  to  it,  as  Sebas 
tian  knew,  was  involved  that  whole  tragedy 
which  had  throbbed  and  palpitated  within 
these  narrow  limits.  There  was  another  pause, 
during  which  Sebastian  was  being  torn  by  a 
scruple.  Since  Louis  knew  so  much,  and,  with 
his  keen  wits,  had  probably  surmised  a  great 
deal  more,  would  it  not  be  better  that  he 
should  know  all,  or  at  least  so  much  as  would 
make  him  a  valuable  auxiliary  in  the  work 
of  preserving  whatever  secrecy  might  still  be 
maintained  ? 

"There  is  nothing  to  gain,"  he  said,  "in 
concealing  from  you  now  a  fact,  which  I  should 
have  been  quite  willing  to  share  with  you 
from  the  first.  No  doubt,  from  what  Rosanna 
said,  you  have  been  able  to  make  a  tolerably 


388  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

shrewd  guess  that  Elmira  was  father's  first 
wife." 

Louis  nearly  sprang  from  his  chair  in  aston 
ishment.  That  was  an  announcement  for  which 
he  had  not  been  prepared;  and  Sebastian  was 
heartily  glad  that,  much  as  he  trusted  this 
second  eldest  brother,  he  had  not  to  let  him 
know  that  circumstance  which  gave  the  matter 
its  darkest  complexion.  In  that  respect  at 
least  he  could  be  faithful  to  the  dead,  since, 
save  the  old  priest,  and  Dorothy  through  her 
discovery,  none  need  ever  know  of  the  wrong 
which  David  Wilmot  had  believed  himself  to 
be  doing  to  both  women. 

"The  silence  which  I  have  kept,"  said 
Sebastian,  "was  in  consequence  of  a  promise 
made  to  the  dead,  and  imposed  upon  me,  as 
I  thought,  by  father's  tacit  wish.  That  promise 
I  have  kept  in  so  far  as  I  was  able.  There  are 
certain  painful  circumstances  in  connection 
with  that  marriage  which  it  is  best  should  be 
forgotten.  Father  left  me  a  detailed  account 
of  all,  or  nearly  all,  that  happened.  Those 
omissions  have  been  supplied  from  other 
sources." 

"You  may  believe  me,  Sebastian,"  cried 
I/ouis,  "I  never  was  so  much  astonished  in 
my  life!" 

"We  are  apt  to  forget,"  said  Sebastian,  with 
a  faint  smile,  "that  our  parents  are  human, 
and  may  be  subject  to  the  follies,  even  the 
crimes,  incidental  to  the  race." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  389 

: '  Were  there  children  of  this  marriage  ? ' ' 
Louis  inquired  next. 

' '  One  daughter,  whom  I  have  managed  to 
find,  strangely  enough,  through  the  instru 
mentality  of  Dorothy." 

"Of  Miss  Kent?"  said  Louis.  "Does  she, 
too,  know  all  this?" 

"By  a  singular  chain  of  circumstances," 
said  Sebastian,  "she  was  companion  to  this 
very  Elmira  the  second,  the  daughter,  and  had 
heard  the  whole  story, — though,  of  course, 
quite  unaware  that  it  had  any  connection  with 
us  until  she  recognized  father's  portrait  in 
the  dining-room  the  other  night,  from  a  photo 
graph  in  her  possession." 

"By  George!"  cried  Louis,  "I  never  heard 
anything  so  remarkable!  And  I  suppose  that 
was  the  reason  you  objected  to  Margie's 
marriage  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  until  I  was  quite  sure  that  every 
thing  was  regular.  And  that  was  likewise  my 
objection  to  the  sale  of  the  house;  for  father 
had  strictly  enjoined  upon  me  not  to  sell  it 
until  Elmira's  daughter  should  be  found." 

Sebastian  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  explain 
that  it  was  also  for  the  wife,  who  his  father 
had  believed  might  still  be  surviving,  the 
restriction  had  been  made." 

"Well,  all  I  can  say,"  observed  Louis, 
drawing  a  deep  breath,  "is  that  you  have  had 
a  confoundedly  hard  time  of  it,  in  addition  to 
the  enormous  responsibilities  of  the  business. 


390  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

And  it  is  damnable  to  think  that  that  woman, 
with  her  meddlesome  tongue,  very  nearly  put 
the  entire  story  onto  the  market." 

"I  hope,  indeed,"  said  Sebastian,  "that  she 
has  not  found  out  and  told  too  much.  One 
of  my  anxieties  is  lest  the  story,  perhaps  in 
some  garbled  fashion,  should  ever  reach  mother 
or  Margie." 

' '  We  must  find  out  at  once  from  this  woman 
what  she  knows,  and  shut  her  up,  if  we  have 
to  send  her  to  Siberia,"  replied  Louis.  "  I  think 
you  had  better  let  me  deal  with  that  end  of 
the  matter.  You  are  somewhat  of  a  coward 
where  women  are  concerned." 

Sebastian  slightly  smiled  at  that  remark.  ^ 

' '  I  will  leave  it  to  you  with  pleasure ;  though 
I  am  convinced  she  will  not  be  nearly  so  much 
interested  in  spreading  the  story — apart  from 
other  considerations — once  she  has  discovered 
that  it  does  not  concern  me.  But,  of  course, 
we  can  not  tell  her  the  true  state  of  the  case." 

"We  must  tell  her  just  enough  to  shut  her 
mouth." 

"Not  violating  the  confidence  of  the  dead," 
said  Sebastian,  firmly. 

"No,"  agreed  Louis.  "That,  of  course,  must 
be  kept  sacred." 

Meanwhile  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alfred  had  already 
returned  from  the  Bar  dinner;  for  the  brothers 
did  not  realize  how  long  their  conference  had 
been  protracted.  They  suddenly  heard,  to  their 
surprise,  a  tapping  at  the  door  of  the  room  in 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  391 

which  they  sat,  and  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Alfred 
demanding  admittance.  Louis  muttered  an 
execration  under  his  breath;  but  Sebastian, 
arising,  went  to  the  door,  which  the  visitor 
had  already  opened,  thrusting  in  her  head. 

"Oh,  you  naughty  pair  of  boys!"  she  said. 
'Your  mother  is  quite  distressed  that  she  has 
scarcely  seen  Louis,  who  conies  here  so  seldom. 
But  Alfred  suggested,  and  I  quite  agreed  with 
him,  that  it  was  probably  Sebastian's  fault, 
selfishly  monopolizing  him." 

Louis  also  had  risen  to  his  feet  as  she  entered, 
and  he  saluted  her  grimly. 

"Oh,  is  that  you,  Mrs.  Alfred?  Your  dinner 
must  have  come  to  an  end  early.  But  we  shall 
be  very  glad  to  have  a  word  with  you,  if  you 
will  sit  down  for  a  few  moments." 

She  took  the  chair  which  Sebastian  offered 
her,  looking  about  her  half  curiously,  half 
uneasily.  It  was  not  like  Louis  to  extend  such 
an  invitation. 

"If  you  don't  mind  the  smoke,"  said  Sebas 
tian,  hastening  to  open  the  window. 

He  remained  there,  with  a  certain  distaste 
to  see  the  woman  thus  brought  to  bay; 
while  Louis  faced  her.  He  caught  glimpses 
of  the  square  outside  as  he  stood;  the  electric 
light  was  making  eerie  shadows  upon  its  broad 
paths  and  its  beds,  wherein  the  grass  was  brown 
and  dry  and  sere.  His  thoughts,  in  swift  retro 
spection,  went  back  to  that  afternoon  when 
his  father  had  speculated  upon  his  marriage, 


392  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

which  had  then  seemed  so  remote  and  shadowy 
a  contingency,  and  on  the  kind  of  wife  he  should 
be  likely  to  choose,  and  how  afterward  he  had 
stood  upon  the  brown  stone  steps  at  the  front 
door,  and,  looking  out  upon  that  familiar 
scene,  had  watched  the  white  butterflies. 
Presently  his  attention  was  called  to  what  the 
other  two  were  saying  in  the  room. 

"Both  Sebastian  and  I,"  said  Louis,  "are 
anxious  to  know  the  meaning  of  this  talk 
about  a  person  named  Elmira.  We  thought 
you  might  be  able  to  throw  some  light  on  the 
subject." 

Mrs.  Alfred,  surprised  and  disconcerted, 
flushed  to  a  delicate  pink,  her  eyes  narrowing 
into  slits,  though  the  smile  still  hovered  about 
her  thin  lips. 

"Why,  I  should  have  thought,"  she  said 
sweetly,  "that  our  dear  Sebastian  could  have 
given  you  more  information  on  that  subject 
than  any  one  else." 

"So  he  can,"  said  Louis,  composedly;  "but 
he  has  not  seen  fit  to  make  it  public." 

"It  would  not  be,  perhaps,  a  pretty  story 
for  Dorothy." 

"I  should  prefer,"  said  Sebastian,  turning 
suddenly  from  the  window,  but  still  gravely 
courteous — "that  is,  if  you  don't  mind, — that 
Miss  Kent's  name  should  be  left  out  of  this 
discussion." 

"Why,  yes,  if  you  prefer,"  said  Mrs.  Alfred. 
"And  that  reminds  me  that  I  have  not  yet 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  393 

had  an  opportunity  of  offering  you  my  con 
gratulations." 

'Thank  you!"  replied  Sebastian. 

'You  took  us  all  so  much  by  surprise;  but, 
then,  you  are  always  so  very  reticent." 

;' Which  brings  us  back  to  the  point,"  said 
Louis,  "that  I  wish  everybody  else  had  been 
equally  reticent.  But  what  we  are  particularly 
interested  in  hearing  just  now  is  what  you 
happen  to  know  about  Elmira?" 

Mrs.  Alfred  looked  down,  affecting  reluctance. 

"I  would  rather  not, — indeed  I  should  rather 
not,"  she  said. 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  Louis,  "we  shall  have  to 
ask  you  to  overcome  that  reluctance,  and  to 
speak  out  plainly.  The  matter  is  vital." 

"Do  you  really  want  me  to  tell?"  said  Mrs. 
Alfred,  rising  and  confronting  Sebastian,  with 
a  curious  light  in  her  eyes. 

"I   most  certainly  do,"  said  Sebastian. 

"Then  I  will  speak  at  last,  I  will  submit 
my  proof;  and  I  challenge  Louis, — I  appeal 
to  any  fair-minded  person  to  say  if  the  proof 
be  not  sufficient." 

"As  there  are  no  fair-minded  persons  here," 
said  Louis,  sarcastically,  "except  ourselves, 
such  an  appeal  is  superfluous." 

"But  with  all  your  mockery,"  said  Mrs. 
Alfred,  "you  who,  at  least,  are  of  irreproach 
able  conduct  and  a  credit  to  the  family,  will 
have  to  admit  that  this  brother  who  has  been 
raised  up  over  us  all  by  the  unjust  will  of  his 


394  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

father,  has  become  involved  in  some  affair 
that  he  strives  to  gloss  over  by  his  affectation 
of  reticence." 

"A  reticence  which  you  would  have  done 
well  to  imitate,"  said  Louis,  his  keen  eyes  re 
garding  that  soul  which  she  had  thus  laid 
bare,  with  its  petty  jealousy,  its  meanness, 
and  its  malice.  "Of  course  it  would  not  be 
our  province  to  take  you  to  task  for  anything 
you  might  have  seen  fit  to  do  or  say.  But 
this  is  a  matter  that  may  involve  the  most 
serious  consequence,  if  this  slanderous  gossip 
that  has  arisen  can  not  be  checked.  So  when 
you  have  been  kind  enough  to  tell  us  what 
you  know  of  this  woman,  we  shall  have  to 
ask  you,  whenever  possible,  to  deny  such 
rumors  concerning  Sebastian,  or  with  regard 
to  this  Elmira,  as  may  be  in  circulation." 

"I  shall  never  deny  what  is  true,"  said  Mrs. 
Alfred,  suddenly  snatching  from  her  neck  a 
little  bag  of  silk,  from  which  she  drew  a  slip 
of  paper.  "Let  Sebastian  deny,  if  he  can,  that 
this  belongs  to  him." 

She  thrust  it  into  Louis'  hand;  but  he, 
without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  it,  passed  it 
to  Sebastian.  The  latter,  much  surprised, 
took  and  examined  it  deliberately.  It  was 
yellow  with  age,  split  at  the  creases,  and 
seeming,  in  fact,  on  the  point  of  falling  to 
pieces.  He  opened  it  with  care,  and  read  what 
would  have  filled  him  with  dismay  but  a  short 
time  previously.  The  writing  was  such  as  might 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  395 

have  belonged  to  an  illiterate  person ;  the  words 
were  few,  but  such  as  to  suggest  a  perilously 
close  guess  at  the  truth.  He  wondered  that  it 
had  not  been  perfectly  clear  to  the  woman's 
acute  mind,  and  could  only  rejoice,  with  deep 
thankfulness,  at  the  strange  mistake  into  which 
she  had  fallen  and  her  singular  obtuseness. 
For,  as  he  reflected,  the  very  appearance  of 
that  paper  might  have  shown  the  absurdity 
of  connecting  it  with  himself. 


26 


396  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 


XXVIII. 

MRS.  ALFRED  was  watching  Sebastian  with 
a  smile  that  was  cruel  and  malignant,  though 
she  was  at  the  same  time  a  little  breathless; 
for  there  had  been  certainly  a  burning  of  her 
bridges  with  a  vengeance  and  an  open  declara 
tion  of  hostility.  She  was  hoping  to  see  the 
young  man  flinch  when  confronted  with  what 
seemed  the  evidence  of  his  guilt  before  his 
upright  and  sternly- judging  brother.  But  Se 
bastian's  face  showed  no  other  emotion  than 
surprise.  Half -frightened  at  her  act  and  its 
possible  consequences,  she  was  moved  to  explain : 

"You  must  not  blame  me,  Sebastian.  You 
see,  I  have  been  forced  into  showing  the  paper 
by  the  unwarrantable  proceedings  of  this 
evening." 

Sebastian's  voice  was  quite  unmoved,  and 
as  courteous  as  ever  when  he  replied: 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  exceedingly  obliged 
to  you  for  letting  us  see  this  singular  bit  of 
evidence  concerning  something  in  which  Louis 
and  I  are  very  much  interested.  And  perhaps 
you  will  do  us  a  greater  favor  still,  and  state 
when,  how,  and  from  whom  you  obtained  this 
scrap  of  paper." 

"From  yourself!"  cried  Mrs.  Alfred,  feeling 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  397 

that,  somehow,  things  were  not  going  to  her 
liking,— "here  at  this  very  door,  on  the  night 
following  your  father's  death." 

Sebastian  remembered  at  once  how  he  had 
met  her,  and  how  he  had  feared  her  when  he 
was  striving  to  escape  into  solitude.  He  saw 
that  on  examining  his  father's  papers,  this 
morsel  must  have  fallen  to  the  floor,  or  adhered 
in  some  way  to  his  clothing.  When  he  had 
stepped  forth  into  the  dim  light  of  the  hall, 
he  might  have  dropped  it  unnoticed,  and  right 
in  the  enemy's  path.  He  felt  that  he  could 
not  be  sufficiently  thankful  that  her  prejudice 
against  himself  had  blinded  her  to  other  things. 
Perhaps  even  then  Mrs.  Alfred  expected  to 
see  him  tear  the  slip  of  paper  into  pieces,  or 
conceal  it,  with  some  trivial  excuse,  in  the 
depths  of  his  pocket.  But  instead  he  returned 
it  again  to  Louis. 

"No  doubt,"  he  said,  "this  was  the  origin 
of  those  stories  that  have  been  circulated. 
Evidently  this  bit  of  writing  has  some  rela 
tion  to  the  matter  we  were  discussing  this 
evening." 

Never  was  angry  disappointment  more  clearly 
visible  upon  a  human  countenance  than  upon 
that  of  Mrs.  Alfred  at  this  moment.  Sebastian's 
composure  declared  to  her  more  forcibly  than 
argument  either  that  she  had  been  in  some 
mortifying  way  mistaken  or  that  he  was  de 
termined  to  brazen  it  out  and  to  rise  triumphant 
over  this  new  complication. 


398  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Louis  was  meanwhile  examining  the  paper, 
from  which  his  accusing  eyes  were  presently 
raised  to  his  sister-in-law's  face. 

" I  hope,"  he  said,  "you  have  not  been  foolish 
and  criminal  enough  to  show  this  thing  to  any 
one." 

"No,"  replied  Mrs.  Alfred,— "not  even  to 
Alfred.  I  really  was  unwilling  to  disturb  his 
mind." 

"It's  just  as  well  you  refrained  from  so 
doing.  The  shock  might  have  been  injurious 
to  his  nervous  system;  and  if  he  had  drawn 
the  same  inference  as  yourself,  he  would  have 
been  certain  to  make  himself  ridiculous." 

These  were  severe  words,  but  Louis  was 
thoroughly  indignant. 

"Now,"  he  went  on,  "I  am  going  to  tell  you 
just  enough  of  this  matter  to  let  you  see  how 
great  is  the  danger  you  have  escaped  for  your 
self  and  the  rest  of  the  family,  and  at  the 
same  time  what  a  grievous  wrong  you  did 
Sebastian  on  a  most  improbable  assumption." 

So  keen  was  Mrs.  Alfred's  mortification,  so 
cruel  her  disappointment,  that  she  felt  as  if 
she  could  have  sunk  through  the  floor;  for 
she,  and  not  Sebastian,  was  the  criminal,  self- 
condemned  of  the  most  inexcusable  folly  and 
indiscretion,  if  nothing  worse,  in  the  eyes  of 
that  righteous  judge.  Sebastian,  unwilling  to 
witness  her  confusion,  turned  away  again  to 
the  window;  while  Louis  gave  the  words  of 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  399 

explanation  which  he  deemed  necessary  to 
stop  the  woman's  tongue. 

"Now,  let  me  tell  you,  in  the  first  place," 
he  said,  "that  this  name  of  Elmira  is  one  that 
must  not  be  mentioned  ever  again,  either  in 
public  or  private.  Sebastian  has  had  untold 
trouble,  and  has  lifted  a  burden  from  the  rest 
of  us,  in  striving  to  keep  secret  the  history 
of  this  woman.  She  was  of  the  humblest  birth, 
and  married  to  a  relative  of  ours.  She  was 
dead  before  we  were  born,  and  so  can  not  be 
of  interest  to  any  one  of  this  generation.  The 
appearance  of  that  paper  might  have  told 
you  as  much.  Altogether,  you  can  see  for  your 
self  that  the  story  was  not  one  which  should 
have  been  made  public,  and  that  any  rash 
talk  might  even  yet  subject  the  family  not  only 
to  mortification  and  inconvenience  but  to  some 
thing  much  worse." 

During  this  explanation  Sebastian  looked 
anxious  and  uneasy.  He  feared  that  Louis 
was  telling  too  much,  and  that  the  keen  wits 
of  the  woman  might  supply  the  missing  links 
in  such  a  story.  But  Louis  was  determined  that 
Sebastian  should  be  fully  exonerated;  for  his 
robust  common-sense  saw  no  reason  why  one 
man's  reputation  should  suffer  for  another's; 
and  he  was  supremely  anxious  to  stop  Mrs. 
Alfred's  tongue,  and  to  induce  her  to  undo, 
if  possible,  some  of  the  mischief  that  she  had 
done. 

The    latter    stood    there    now   with    but   one 


400  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

desire — to  escape  from  the  presence  of  these 
men  by  whom  she  had  been  so  bitterly  mortified, 
who  had  witnessed  her  defeat.  In  her  mind 
were  conflicting  sentiments — shame,  fear  at  the 
danger  which  she  had  escaped,  for  the  desire 
of  family  aggrandizement  was  one  of  her  most 
predominant  traits;  a  certain  remorse  for  the 
injury  which  she  had  inflicted  upon  Sebastian, 
since  it  must  be  owned,  she  would  have  been 
incapable  of  inventing  a  deliberate  calumny 
against  him;  but,  withal,  anger  that  he  had 
emerged  more  triumphantly  than  ever  from 
this  crisis  which  had  threatened  his  good  name 
and  his  supremacy  in  the  family. 

Presently  Sebastian  came  forward,  extending 
to  her  the  olive  branch  of  peace,  together 
with  his  hand. 

'You  see  now  that  it  has  all  been  a  mis 
take,"  he  said, — "perhaps  a  natural  one  on 
your  part.  And,  as  for  me,  it  is  easy  to 
live  down  whatever  harm  may  have  been 
done." 

"Why,  of  course,  you  dear  boy!"  said  Mrs. 
Alfred,  seizing  with  effusion  the  offered  hand; 
though  in  her  eyes  was  still  the  light  of  anger, 
and  in  her  heart  a  greater  rage  than  ever  against 
this  always  victorious  younger  brother.  "It 
was  so  foolish  of  me.  Of  course,  if  I  had  con 
sulted  Alfred,  it  never  would  have  happened; 
and,  indeed,  I  only  hinted  at  the  matter  to 
one  or  two  intimate  friends,  without  giving 
any  details,  or  showing  that  wretched  bit  of 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  401 

paper.  And  I  am  so  afraid  now  that  you  will 
never  forgive  me." 

"As  I  hope  to  be  forgiven,"  answered 
Sebastian. 

His  eyes  met  hers,  smilingly  and  frankly. 
He  felt  that  he  could  well  afford  to  pardon 
everything;  and  he  opened  the  door  for  her 
when,  with  an  incoherent  murmur  of  excuse, 
she  fled  from  the  room. 

"I  hope  that  matter  is  settled  forever,"  said 
Louis,  grimly.  "I  think  the  argument  of  self- 
interest,  the  appeal  to  family  pride,  clinched 
it." 

"And  I  hope,"  answered  Sebastian,  "she 
has  not  heard  too  much." 

"No  more  than  was  necessary." 

"I  felt  rather  like  an  executioner,"  said 
Sebastian,  "during  the  whole  performance." 

"And  I  like  a  surgeon  performing  a  necessary 
operation." 

After  which  the  two  young  men  descended 
to  the  drawing-room,  where  they  were  both 
struck  with  the  cheerful  equanimity  with  which 
Mrs.  Alfred  had  resumed  her  ordinary  place 
in  the  circle.  She  hovered  about  her  "dear 
Mrs.  Wilmot,"  who,  as  usual,  was  appealing 
to  Caroline  as  to  her  chief  support  and  right- 
hand  woman;  and  she  even  darted  honeyed 
smiles  and  glances  at  the  brothers,  as  though 
that  scene  in  the  room  above  had  never  taken 
place. 

They     found     Alfred     bursting     with     self- 


402  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

importance,  and  striving  to  repeat  from  memory 
as  many  extracts  as  possible  from  Uie  speech 
he  had  delivered  at  the  dinner.  To  the  ill- 
concealed  disgust  of  Louis,  he  slapped  Sebas 
tian  on  the  back  and  declared  that  he  did  not 
think  the  head  of  the  Wilmot  firm  half  appre 
ciated  his  good  fortune  in  having  so  distinguished 
a  member  of  the  Bar  as  his  adviser.  That 
heavy  pleasantry,  which  concealed  his  real 
opinion,  exasperated  Louis;  though  Sebastian 
received  it  with  a  smile,  and  a  humorous  look 
from  his  half-shut  eyes. 

"That  fellow,"  Louis  said,  when  Alfred  had 
passed  on,  "grows  more  asinine  every  day. 
I  won't  be  able  to  stand  him  much  longer,  but 
shall  have  to  rush  at  him  with  my  lancet  and 
prick  the  bubble  of  his  self-conceit." 

"That  would  be  an  operation  beyond  even 
your  skill,"  responded  Sebastian.  "So  perhaps 
it  is  as  well  to  let  him  go  on  harmlessly  blow 
ing  his  own  and  the  family  trumpet,  assisted 
by  his  wife." 

Suddenly  from  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
like  an  echo,  came  the  thin  voice  of  Mrs. 
Alfred: 

"Mother  was  just  saying— and  you  know, 
Margie, — how  absolutely  correct  Alfred  always 
is  in  his  judgments." 

Louis  heaved  a  sigh. 

"That  is  the  light  behind  the  transparency," 
he  said.  "As  long  as  that  is  there,  the  blubber 
will  go  on  fancying  itself  a  moon." 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  403 

Margie  was,  for  once,  however,  in  agreement 
with  her  sister-in-law.  Radiant  with  happiness 
herself,  she  could  forgive — since  she  knew 
nothing  of  the  graver  offences — those  sins  on 
the  part  of  Alfred  and  his  wife,  which  seemed 
small  now  when  the  dismemberment  of  the 
family  was  imminent. 

Mrs.  Wilmot,  on  her  part,  seemed  rather 
bewildered  by  the  various  items  of  news  which 
she  had  heard,  with  startling  suddenness,  that 
day.  But  in  the  main  she  was  full  of  pleasur 
able  excitement  at  the  prospect  of  the  choosing 
and  the  furnishing  of  a  new  house,  Margie's 
trousseau,  and  probably  at  no  distant  date  a 
double  wedding. 

Sebastian  meanwhile  had  disappeared  mo 
mentarily  into  the  dining-room,  to  snatch  a 
surreptitious  glance  at  a  photograph  of  herself 
which  Dorothy  had  that  day  given  him.  As 
he  restored  it  to  his  pocket,  his  eyes,  looking 
upward,  met  the  gaze  of  his  pictured  father 
upon  the  wall.  It  now  seemed  smiling  and 
benignant.  Portraits  have  their  moods  as  well 
as  living  people;  only  they  are  the  effect  of 
light  falling  in  a  certain  way,  or  the  reflex  of 
the  mental  attitude  of  those  who  confront 
them. 

While  Sebastian  was  absent  from  the  room, 
Mrs.  Wilmot  heard  Louis  say  to  Margie,  with 
an  emphasis  that  mildly  surprised  her: 

"I  don't  think  any  one  of  us,  except  perhaps 
you,  has  fully  appreciated  the  stuff  of  which 


404  THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN 

Sebastian  is  made.  I  begin  to  know  him,  and 
I  am  quite  ready  to  take  off  my  hat  to  him, 
now,  that  in  a  sense,  we  are  about  to  lose  him." 

"Oh,"  cried  the  mother,  with  a  suggestion 
of  tears  in  her  voice,  "we  are  not  going  to  lose 
him!  He  is  going  to  live  right  here  in  the  old 
house,  and  to  make  it  a  meeting-house  for  us 
all." 

"Why,  that,"  said  Sebastian,  entering 
through  the  pillars  in  time  to  catch  this  ob 
servation,  "will  be  my  dearest  wish  and 
Dorothy's!" 

And  so  the  old  house,  upon  that  memorable 
occasion,  had  given  symptoms  of  awaking  from 
its  long  lethargy,  and  undergoing  that  law 
of  change  inherent  in  houses  no  less  than  in 
people.  And,  indeed,  it  has  been  so  often  re 
marked  as  to  have  become  a  truism  that  once 
the  Great  Enchanter  has  set  foot  across  a 
threshold,  he  sweeps  away  with  relentless  broom 
not  only  the  cobwebs,  but  the  sunbeams  that 
have  been  playing  in  amongst  them. 

About  an  hour  later  Sebastian  returned  to 
the  silent  room  above.  He  felt  that  there  was 
yet  some  business  to  be  transacted,  a  final 
mission  to  be  performed.  There  where  he  had 
taken  up  the  burden,  it  was  fitting  that  he  should 
lay  it  down;  there  where  he  had  pledged  him 
self  to  silence,  it  was  fitting  that  he  should 
render  that  silence  in  some  sort  irrevocable 
by  destroying  the  witnesses  to  the  past.  He 
opened  the  safe  and  took  from  it  that  pitiful 


THE  SILENCE  OF  SEBASTIAN  405 

confession  upon  which  his  father  had  been 
engaged  when  stricken  by  the  hand  of  Death, 
and  also  the  instructions  concerning  the  arrange 
ments  to  be  made  for  Elmira  or  for  her  child. 
He  once  more  read  them  all  over,  sitting  down 
beside  that  table  where  he  had  sat  upon  that 
previous  evening.  Again  it  seemed  to  him  as 
if  a  portly  figure  were  occupying  the  opposite 
chair,  and  that  heavy-lidded  eyes  were  gazing 
into  his  own. 

"Father,"  said  Sebastian,  addressing  this 
phantom  of  his  mind  as  though  it  had  really 
been  there,  "your  instructions  are  being  carried 
out  to  the  letter,  as  far  as  circumstances  have 
made  it  possible;  and  the  silence  that  I 
promised  to  keep  has  been  broken  only  where 
it  became  unavoidable.  It  shall  be  kept  now 
for  evermore." 

Near  by  there  was  a  large  metal  urn  wherein 
flowers  had  once  been  planted.  Into  that 
receptacle  Sebastian  dropped  all  the  papers, 
including  the  bit  that  had  been  rescued  from 
Mrs.  Alfred.  Setting  a  match  to  them,  he 
watched  each  separate  sheet  leap  into  flame, 
with  the  writing  showing  at  first  distinct,  so 
that  he  could  distinguish  the  sentences;  each 
charred  presently  into  fiery  red,  and  then  sank 
into  dull  ashes.  When  Sebastian  had  seen  them 
all  reduced  to  finest  powder,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  was  a  free  man  once  more, — free  to 
enjoy  the  life  of  peace  and  love  and  happiness 
that  lav  outstretched  before  him. 


C  SOUTHERN  REG  ONAL  LIBRARY  FAC  L1TY 


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